


A Cup of Tea

by Lizzy0305



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Aurors and thieves, Clueless Snape, Fluff, Humor, Lots of Tea, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-28
Updated: 2017-10-21
Packaged: 2018-12-08 02:39:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 36,583
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11637222
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lizzy0305/pseuds/Lizzy0305
Summary: In which Harry insists on having a cup of tea with Snape, Snape does not want to have anything with Harry much less tea, and tea does not even mean tea. Or in other words, how to make the perfect cup of tea in seven simple steps.





	1. Collect All the Ingredients

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sheankelor](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sheankelor/gifts).



> Presents are the best thing about birthdays and whoever says otherwise is lying. So here's mine to You, Ree. With lots of love and many kisses. I hope you're having a wonderful time and that once you get to this, you will have just as much fun.
> 
> Maybe you dont remember, but a long long time ago, you and I had a conversation. You accused me that I always make Severus and Harry drink coffee in my stories. I dont know how it happened, but I remember promising you a story, where the boys would only drink tea. This could have been any story, in fact, I started writing Indian Summer with this notion, but of course, the muses didnt let me. There's that saying, "I like my men how I like my tea: hot and British." Then there was this hilarious preventive video titled "Tea and Consent" (British PO version) where the British explained consent to sex through tea. And the idea for this story was born.
> 
> Editing was done by Sexy.Lil.Emo. Love you for it, Darling :)

 

> _“Would you like an adventure now, or would you like to have your tea first?”_
> 
> _(J. M. Barrie)_

 

Anyone who ever had a cup of tea knows that tea is good. What good, it is brilliant. It is something that men and women – and anyone in between – enjoy all across the globe. And the best part of it is, that it comes in different flavours. “This is not my cup of tea,” you might say when someone offers you Oolong tea, you being the type who defers towards less conventional flavours. Or perhaps, you prefer the refreshing and energizing green tea, or something mellow that burns through you on a cold winter night.

Some people like to mix tea with something else. Some cook with tea leaves, mix it with chocolate or other things some conservative folk might consider unorthodox. But we say that is perfectly alright. There are, of course, people, who do not even like tea and that is alright, too. As long as you are happy, no one should care what you drink, right?

But one of our heroes, namely Harry James Potter does like tea. He also likes many other things such as Quidditch, treacle tart, the colour blue, and his Firebolt. Harry Potter works as an Auror, also known as Dark Wizard Catcher, which nowadays is a rather boring job. There are not many Dark Wizards at the moment, and the ones who are out there, doing bad stuff are more like… grey. Not good, but not really bad either. None the less, Harry Potter still loves his job, but to be honest in the last month or so, he really only has mind for tea. His favourite blend is Earl Grey, all smoky and fragrant. He simply loves the citrusy aftertaste as citrus reminds him of certain bitter peop- things.

Now, Harry Potter, as so many of us, enjoys to have some tea on his own occasionally, but what he really prefers is a nice cup – or perhaps a bit more, two, even three cups – in the evening shared with another nice gentleman.

Yes, Harry Potter is the kind of gentlemen who prefers the company of other gentlemen when it comes to having tea. Which is alright, again.

Now, to his utter misfortune, Harry Potter had not had any tea in a while, not even on his own. Which makes Harry Potter rather a sour looking gentleman as he walks toward the Ministry on this fine summer morning.

As you might imagine, the Wizarding World is not so much different from our Muggle one, hence here as well, you could find many teashops where people would be more than happy to share a cup of tea with people who do not have company for tea. Harry Potter unfortunately does not like such establishments. He prefers his own blend, drank in a company of men he knows, or at least wants to get to know better.

Again, to his utter misfortune, there is only one gentlemen at the moment on this part of the globe – or even the other part – with whom Harry would love to share a cup of tea at home – or really anywhere – however this certain gentleman is currently out of his reach.

This certain gentleman, who will be our other protagonist, is called Severus Snape. He does, too, have a middle name, but he prefers it to be kept a secret, so we will not mention it. Severus Snape, who is an older gentleman, previous Potion Master extraordinaire, is now what you might call a freelancer. What kind of services does he provide, you wonder? Anything really that connects to potions, dark wizards, interesting mysteries, and difficult spells.

Severus has of course his own favourite blend, namely English Breakfast, which he likes for many reasons. One is that it gives him a rush of energy every morning as if he had just run five miles, or saved someone’s scrawny ass. The other reason for this particular preference is the variability: black, with a bit of sugar, with only milk, with milk and sugar – English Breakfast will never get boring, there is always a newer level in its aromatic taste, a new brewing method that brings out another flavour. In other words, he loves the blend’s unpredictability. As Severus Snape is a rather secretive person, not many knows about his favourite blend, which he prefers to keep that way.

Aahil Surabhi must also be mentioned, as he will have, one could say, the most important role in this short, tea-filled tale. He is a prince from India, and a great fan of a very American invention: the sweet tea. He believes there is nothing better in the heat of a summer afternoon, than to curl up with a glass of sweet tea and let the melting ice cool down his body.

Now, we do have another tea-lover to introduce here, as his role in this story will also be quite important. His name is Edward Connor Flannigan. Edward is a business man from the windy Chicago. He is a collector of everything that is fine: from china, paintings, real estate, artefacts, to gentlemen, Edward has eyes for anything. His preference when it comes to tea is quite simple: Edward Flannigan loves all the tea that is hot and delicious, but above all he goes mad for some spicy chai.

The object that brings these four gentlemen together and starts our story is a tiny little blue box. Mr. Flannigan brought this box over from India during his last visit to that magnificent country, famous of not just its rich culture but also its very fine teas.

Unfortunately, Edward does not know yet that his blue box is utterly worthless. He brings it oversees thinking proudly of it, rolling it on his palm admiring the beautiful patterns drawn in different shades of blue. There are sky blue leaves and ocean blue gems on it, and circles blue like wheat flower. It truly looks magnificent, which helps fooling even a knowledgeable man like him. But what truly helps is the Scam-Spell on it, that no one will know about for days to come.

So these will be our ingredients for our little story today: one freelancer called Severus Snape, one Auror called Harry James Potter, a prince named Aahil Surabhi, a collector of fine things by the name of Edward Connor Flannigan and a little blue box.

And of course, lots of tea.


	2. Step Two: Put the Kettle on

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Even at the very beginning this story was titled A Cup of Tea. Although it very well might have been titled "Clueless Severus is Clueless". You've been warned.
> 
> And now, let us continue onto the next step in the art of brewing tea.
> 
> ((PS: Did I accidentally close this fic as if being finished? Because it's not. It has seven chapters))

Edward marched through the empty corridor with excitement boiling his noble, pure blood. He could almost hear the little blue box whispering all its secrets to him, however it was either in a different language or just he was getting too old, but he couldn’t make out exactly what it was saying to him. Which was why he was heading towards a black door with white foggy windows that didn’t not allow anyone to see through it. He suspected – and hoped – there were other spells and charms in place preventing any form of spying, after all, this was the office of The Spy. He expected the legendary Severus Snape to protect his business in every way.

He was currently on the eleventh floor on a surprisingly sunny Friday afternoon, which made the corridor bright and almost cheerful. He couldn’t picture the man to willingly choose this well-lit office as his, yet the simple engraved name on the door that said “Severus Snape” proved Edward was at the right spot.

He checked himself in the mirror a couple steps before the door, a habit he had picked up back in his youth in the windy Chicago. London had been quiet today, yet a couple of strands had fallen out already of the bun at the back of his head. His light brown hair looked almost blond in the bright corridor, but he did not mind. Contraire to common believes, he did not care about his looks, but unfortunately, his usual business partners did. He hoped Mr. Snape to be a different deal, but then again, he was in England, home of Westmancotts and oxfords.

At least none of them would be wearing robes, thank god.

Just as he fisted his hand to knock on the black cherrywood door, it opened.

“You are late, Mr. Flannigan. Do come in, please.”

The deep voice that made him shiver like the haunted tombs of Egypt came not from behind the door but from the other side of the office. The room was spacious and not simply bright - there were only two walls, the rest was windows. Everything was black and white, even the owner of the business. Only the green plants brought some colour to this otherwise monochrome bureau.

Snape came around his desk – also black – and offered a hand to Edward, who accepted it, assessing the man in front of him.

The man was older now than how he remembered him from the articles of the Sorcerers’ Chronicles, but he had to admit, during the war he had played such an important role in what happened ten years ago. Snape’s sharp features had changed none, or maybe they had become even sharper, it was hard to decide. The man did not look haunted anymore, nor dying, however Edward had to admit, he still bore a faint memory of the dark past within his features. His eyes were dark, one would say black, but Edward only saw the assessment in them. He was being judged the same way he judged Snape. Severus Snape looked definitely different in real life than in photos. And yet, even the most recent photographs couldn’t capture that certain intimidating glare he was receiving now.

“Sit, please,” Mr. Snape offered only a moment later. Edward stayed standing and walked around the office curious, however there was nothing to see. Not a picture on the desk, no artefacts from earlier cases, not even a painting on the wall. Only green plants and monochrome furniture. How dull, he thought to himself.

He decided to lean against the window instead, Edward being the person, who did not like to be told what to do.

Snape did not like the insubordination, that was clear. Edward caught his small eye roll as the man sat in his chair, placing his fingertips together, waiting. He tried to look patient, but Edward knew Snape was dying to know why he was here.

He couldn’t help the little chuckle that escaped him, and he wasn’t even surprised by the small cold current that wrapped around him in response. What did surprise him was Mr. Snape’s cold but pleasant smile as he said, “And how may I assist you, Mr. Flannigan?”

Edward sunk his hand in his pocket and his fingers slid around the little blue box. Its warmness almost reassured him that he was doing the right thing, yet he did not pull it out yet.

“I heard a lot about you, Mr. Snape.” There came no answer, so he continued. “Some of the information was quite… how should I put it… alarming.”

“What did you hear about me, Mr. Flannigan, that you found alarming?”

“I know you are a respectable man and that you run a respectable business here, however, the same cannot be told about me and my business.”

Snape sighed and stood walking closer. He leant against his desk, unbuttoning his black suit. “As long as you pay me for my services, I can assure you, I will not ask where that came from,” he declared to Edward, pointing at the fisted hand.

“I know that,” Edward laughed. “My friends would not have introduced me your name, would you ask too many questions.” His wand slipped out of his sleeve to summon something. As he held out the picture towards Snape he was almost in awe seeing that the man had a black wand in hand as well, when and from where he had gotten it remained a mystery to Edward. Undoubtedly though, he was impressed.

“ _This_ however, we need to talk about before we talk business. I find the presence of this gentleman in your life… so to speak alarming. Having an Auror in your pocket can be a good thing, but not even you are good enough to have Harry Potter in your pocket.”

The cold current was more like a wave of freezing wind now, but Edward was not surprised. Neither was Snape, or he was a very good actor.

He just sighed again, sounding almost bored. “I was expecting someone better from you, Mr. Flannigan. Your boy could not have been more obvious if he dressed up as a flamingo. I’m sure even Potter noticed him and he is still an oblivious dunderhead.” He handed back the picture and looked Edward dead in the eyes. Oh, yes, he is definitely bored of this conversation. “And now, would you mind showing me your little blue box or just go away. I have no time for this nonsense.”

Edward stared at him for a moment then broke out laughing. He threw the blue box at Snape who caught it in the air then retreated behind his desk. His black eyes lit up instantly, or maybe they only reflected the blue colours of the mysterious box.

“They were correct; you are something else…” Edward noted quietly as he also sat down on the other side of the desk. Snape paid him no attention, but Edward did not mind. He did not need Snape to pay attention to him, but to find out what was inside the box.

“Conditions?” Snape asked not even looking up. He was turning the box in his hand, not yet using his wand for analysing it.

“You get three thousand galleons for trying. If you manage to open it, you get seven more.”

Finally, Severus Snape was surprised. Edward smirked as the black eyes slowly moved over to his person.

“Just for trying?” Snape asked slowly, suspicious.

“I know you are a busy man. I also know you are the best. Money is not a problem to me, surely you know that. Mysteries however, oh how much I hate them. Seven people have tried to open this box, none succeeded as you can see. Shake it, there is something in there and I want to know what is it.”

Snape did just that, and even Edward sitting on the other side of the desk could hear the little rattling noise the object made inside. He turned almost furious by that sound. He had been listening to it in the past three months and it made him mad that he did not know what is was. Even if it was worthless he did not care anymore, but he needed to know the secret.

“What if I say yes,” Snape said, “put this box in my drawer, don’t touch it for a week, then claim my three thousand?”

Edward bent forward with a sly smile. “You can do it if you want. Three thousand won’t hurt me, and you know that. But you won’t do such a thing Severus Snape. Now you are intrigued. You, just like me want to know what’s inside the little blue box.”

Snape couldn’t say anything to it, both of them knew why; because Edward was correct.

“What if I manage to open it but it’s worthless?”

“As long as it’s open and the box remains unharmed, you will get your money. If you harm the box in the process but you still open it, you get fifty percent of the seven thousand and of course the three for trying.”

“You are very generous…” Snape noted thinking.

“I am Edward Flannigan. I can be as generous as I like.” Edward said standing up. “Will you try?” He asked Snape as he held out a hand.

Contemplating both his offer and his hand, Snape slowly raised his eyes and then stood up too. “How could I refuse an offer like this, Mr. Flannigan.”

As they shook hands, Edward spoke again. “And what about Mr. Potter?”

Snape looked confused for a moment. “What about him?”

“Surely I do not need to tell you that it would not be beneficial to me or my business to have Auror Potter sniffing around it. And given we are partners now, I assure you, it would not be good for you either.”

“Shall I take that as a threat, Mr. Flannigan?”

“Oh no,” Edward laughed. “More like a warning.”

“Potter won’t be an issue,” Snape promised.

*****HPSS*****

Potter would be an issue, Severus thought leaning back on his chair. The boy had something against him, and Merlin knows what kind of deranged revenge he was planning now. Ever since they ran into each other at a book club a year ago, Potter had been following him nearly everywhere. Not a week had gone by without seeing that righteous face, which tended to piss Severus off very much indeed. What was Potter’s problem? Was it a crime now to read and collect precious books? It was not like he was stealing them. He worked for that money. Maybe his clients acquired their little treasures illegally but that was not Severus’ problem. He even spent a day in the Archives looking up regulation related to this. He had not touched anything illegal – except some fine Philippine import cigars, but Aurors surely would not be concerned about that, when there were still so many evils going around England.

And yet, Potter was always there in his life, asking what he was doing that afternoon, or the next morning, asking if he wanted to have _lunch_ or even worse _a cup of tea_. How ridiculous an idea. Harry Potter and Severus Snape having afternoon tea. He almost laughed out loud again. He did laugh the first time Potter asked, however it turned out it was not just a joke and the boy – man, really – had been asking the same question ever since then.

Severus was subconsciously throwing the little blue box from one hand to the other. He looked at it now, letting its mystery fill him. He loved this feeling, the beginning of a case, which may lead him anywhere, showing him newer wonders of this world.

However, no matter how pretty and mysterious the box was, how much the quiet rattling inside already annoyed him, there was still only one question in his mind.

What could Potter possibly want from him?

*****HPSS*****

“I just want a bloody cup of tea, is that really so much to ask for?” Harry shouted annoyed at his friend. Ron looked befuddled as always when this topic came up. Ron did not understand why Harry wanted to have tea, or anything really with Severus Snape.

“Mate, just leave it,” he suggested not too helpfully.

“I don’t want to leave it,” Harry told him. “I want to have tea with him.”

“Why?” Ron asked for the millionth time.

“Because… why not.” Harry answered for the millionth time.

They had this fruitless conversation a great many times before on their way home, or during their short lunchbreak or in the evening at the pub nearby. They had it in the living room of Ron and Hermione’s apartment, where even the girl awaited the answer, but it was always just a ‘why not’.

Harry pushed his messy hair out of his forehead. It was rather a warm Friday afternoon and he couldn’t deal with the heat today. He was too stressed. He wanted tea now, and he wanted it really bad.

As they walked in the city centre of Muggle London he trained his eyes on one particular building, which they had incorporated into their route towards home for one particular reason. Snape’s office was in that building. Harry knew that, even though he had never stepped foot in there. Apparently, he was not allowed. One would say it was understandable, given his history with Snape’s previous office however the word he would use was _unfair_. He wanted to go in there and look around. Not as an Auror, of course. He knew Snape to be a good man now, as good at least as Severus Snape could ever be. He simply wanted to see that place, just so he learned where did Snape spend most of his days.

It seemed the universe had finally heard him, because it was none other than Severus Snape who stepped out of the building. He shaded his eyes for a moment and looked up at the sky, no doubt damning the sun for shining. Then he walked away, towards the same direction as Harry and Ron were headed.

Ron gave out a low moan of horror or dislike as he also noticed the man. Harry did not care.

“Please don’t…” Ron mumbled.

“Snape!” Harry shouted.

“Not again…” Ron groaned.

*****HPSS*****

“Not again…” Severus mumbled as he slowed his steps. He knew ignoring that cry would be useless, he had tried that a couple of times as well. Potter would just keep shouting after him until the whole street would know exactly who he was.

He turned instead and rounded on the approaching young man.

“I would have thought Aurors like yourself have better things to do than lurk around perfectly legitimate businesses, Mr. Potter, but I imagine, I was wrong. What can I do for you today?”

He ignored Weasley’s presence the same way the other man ignored him. The red head just stood a couple of feet behind his friend, shuffling awkwardly.

“I was wondering…” Potter started and Severus let out a low, annoyed grunt.

“I’m busy, Potter.” He said quickly.

“I’ll be quick,” Potter promised. “Have tea with me. This afternoon. Or you know what. Evening. No one’s busy at seven on a Friday evening.”

Weasley was shaking his head and Severus was completely lost. He simply did not understand Potter’s attitude. What kind of a damn trap was this? He wanted to say yes just so he could find out. But he was actually busy this evening.

“I am, Potter and if you had a decent job, so would you be. Have a nice day.”

He turned to leave and thankfully, Potter let him.

He was furious. He felt the little blue box pulse in his pocket. He did not even care about it at the moment, all he wanted to do was throw it at Potter. He almost turned around and screamed ‘What do you want from me’ but of course he was better than that.

“Bye, Snape…” said Potter behind him and Severus thought he needed to go to St. Mungo’s because he heard Potter’s voice to be… rather gloomy.

*****HPSS*****

“Hello, Mr. Snape.”

Severus slipped on the bar chair next to Flannigan and looked at the whisky in front of him.

“I thought you asked me here on a business meeting,” he said just loud enough to be heard over the crowd.

“What else would this be?” Flannigan smirked, his blue eyes glinting in the half-dark. He clinked his glass to Severus’ and sipped into it.

“You Americans handle meetings rather differently than we do,” Severus stated but he also took a sip of the whiskey. It burned but it was undoubtedly quality. And he found it delicious.

“If you would prefer your office, I’m more than happy to take you there,” offered his partner, then added quietly, “Or anywhere else.”

A couple hours ago, he had received an owl from Edward Flannigan, asking him to agree to a meeting at a bar not far from Severus’ office. Needing a drink himself, Severus consented without a word, however he was still not sure it was a good idea. Surely Flannigan knew he could not have made any significant progress in the case of the little blue box, so why the meeting?

“How was your day?” Flannigan inquired.

Severus almost spat out the expensive booze.

“Excuse me,” he asked back slowly.

“Your day,” Flannigan repeated. “How was it?”

“Did you ask me here for a social _chat_ , Mr. Flannigan, or is there an actual reason for this meeting?”

A deep laughter sounded up next to him and he looked at the man about the same age as him, though looking a lot younger and in general, better.

“Not a fan of small talk, are we, Snape.” It did not allude Severus that Flannigan left off his title. It did not bother him in the least, yet he noticed the sudden familiarity. “Well then, let’s talk business. You promised Potter won’t be an issue.”

He slipped a photo to Severus again, this time they were standing in front of the building of his office and not in Diagon Alley like on the previous one he had seen. Severus did not like the idea that he was still under surveillance, yet what really pissed him off was Potter. If he blew this case for him, Severus would strangle him for sure.

“He walks home this way every day,” he explained clearly. “It’s inevitable-“

“Would you like me to rent you a new office as well, Snape?” Flannigan sighed. “Because the only inevitable here is that I will walk out with my little blue box _and_ my money as well, unless you don’t take care of Potter.”

“And just what do you mean by _taking care_?” Severus asked with a little ball of fury gathering in his belly.

“Stop him,” Flannigan said. “Whatever it takes.”

The glass in his hand shattered into millions of pieces.

Flannigan laughed as he pulled his wand and cleaned up Severus’ mess without any muggle seeing him.

“You have a soft spot for him? Don’t even bother,” he added when Severus drew breath to either hit him for that statement or just correct him on it. “I know your past; everyone does. And I understand. And before you think me some horrible person, allow me to make this clear: I am not asking you to kill him. I’m merely saying, get him off your back, or I’m walking out. That little thing in your pocket… let’s just say that a prince in India is looking franticly all around the world to find it. I want no Aurors near it.”

“I don’t know what he wants. But it’s not your box. He’s been sniffing around for some reason for almost a year.”

“And you still don’t know what he wants?”

“I know what he wants,” Severus laughed mirthlessly. “A cup of tea. What I don’t know is what he’s actually after.”

“Give me back the box,” Flannigan said then.

Severus raised his eyebrows and stared at the man. “I thought you are curious what’s inside it.” He fished the little blue box out of his pockets and placed it between them. Flannigan did not reach for it yet. “You know I’m one of the bests, if not _the_ best. I told you Potter won’t be an issue and I always keep my word. Just because he follows me like a very annoying puppy, it does not mean he knows anything about me or my cases. But if you want your box back, here it is, Flannigan.”

Minutes went by with Edward Flannigan just blankly staring at his little blue box with the sky blue leaves and the ocean blue gems. Severus could feel his palm becoming more and more sweaty. Ten thousand galleons out of the window if Flannigan took that box back. He would kill Potter for this. He would fucking murder him and not even feel bad.

“Damn you Severus Snape,” Flannigan groaned and pushed the box back to Severus. “Take it, but you better find out what Potter wants. I don’t care how. And you better open that damn thing before he realizes you have it, or I swear to God-“

“Hello,” said a cheerful voice behind them, leaving Severus curious about what Flannigan intended to do.

Another glass shattered, this time it was Flannigan’s. Potter did not even need his wand to clean up the mess, he just waved his hand.

Severus was just laughing. It was a mad kind of laughter, there was nothing funny in the situation. In fact, his laughter more and more resembled sobbing. He was sure Flannigan would grab the box and just walk out, maybe hex them beforehand. He was already saying goodbye to the ten thousand galleons and all the books he planned to buy with that money.

But Flannigan was not standing up and walking out. Nothing like that happened. The American reverted back to the polite business man he was, instead.

“Good evening, sir.” He welcomed Potter.

“Harry Potter,” the idiot introduced himself with a gleeful smile, as fake as the bartender’s tits.

“Edward Flannigan, nice to meet you.” They shook hands as if friends. Severus just really badly wanted to kill Potter, and slowly, too, so he could really enjoy it.

“What are you doing here, Potter?” He said icily, looking into the haunting green eyes. For a moment, Potter seemed almost hurt.

“We’re having a drink,” he pointed somewhere behind him. And indeed, far behind them, almost on the other side of the bar was a rather large group of people sitting around one table, most of them redheads, all of them once Severus’ students.

“Small world,” Flannigan noted quietly.

“What’s that?” Potter asked pointing at the little blue box.

‘The ten thousand galleons I will never have’, Severus almost moaned bitterly.

But before he could utter one word or even just hit Potter, Flannigan spoke up. “My little blue box. I’m trying to have my friend, Severus here, to open it for me.”

_His friend Severus_ nearly fell off the chair as he heard the statement. Almost every word in that sentence angered him because of a different reason.  He cleared his throat and signed to the bartender girl to give him another of whatever he was having. Flannigan gave him a look and he ordered one for the American as well.

Potter reached for the blue box and no one stopped him. It was like watching a volcano erupt. There was nothing they could do, nothing to elude the inevitable doom, knowing even if they ran, they could not outrun the fire.

Severus and Edward both reached for their glasses the moment the young girl placed them on the bar, and dumped the whiskey down their throat watching Potter avidly.

Potter observed the little blue box, turned it around in his hand like a Rubic’s cube and placed it back on the counter.

“Pretty,” he noted, then turned to Snape. “So when you said today you were busy… you meant this…?” He asked, and just when Severus wanted to blurt out something about the box or ten thousand galleons, he was not quite sure himself, Potter corrected himself in a hesitant voice, “ _Him_?”

Flannigan snorted, snapped his fingers and there was a whole bottle of the whiskey in front of him. He poured himself some, then remembering he was a polite gentleman, he sloshes an ample amount for Snape as well.

Severus just kept staring at Potter. He did not know what to say. He wanted to cry ‘Ten thousand galleons for fucks sake’ because he was still angry – oh how very angry – at Potter for being here and in general, for existing. But something in those green eyes made him say something utterly different and he was not sure why he was saying this at all.

“Yes, as I said, some of us needs to work even on a Friday evening.”

“Work?” Potter asked back and that something, Severus couldn’t explain or even put his finger on what disappeared from Potter’s face. “Oh… okay. I leave you to your work then. When you’re done… uhm… and you don’t want to go home yet… well, we will be back there for a while.” And the next moment, he was gone.

Flannigan gave him a look and Severus could tell the man was as confused as he was.

“Well.” He said and drank another glass as he stood up. “Find out what he wants, whatever it takes, and I will still give you your money. But if the Aurors come after me, I’ll make sure they know you knew exactly where this came from. Deal?”

“Deal,” Severus said without hesitation. It was the least he could do after this little scene, he thought.

They looked at Potter, who was still watching them from across the bar. There was no suspicion in the green gaze, nothing that would generally suggest to Snape to be extra careful. Not that he needed such suggestions given it was Potter after all – one always needed to take special measurement when it came to Harry Potter.

Flannigan dropped some Muggle money on the bar and after taking one last, thoughtful look at Potter, he turned to Snape.

 “Are you fucking him?”

Incredulous, Severus just blurted out, “No.”

“Did you?”

“No.”

Smirking, Flannigan pushed himself away from the bar and slipped off his chair. “Maybe you should…” he suggested, walking towards the exit. Snape watched him as he waved towards Potter, who nodded goodbye to the man.

*****HPSS*****

 “Well, maybe you should,” George laughed and Ron saluted him with his middle finger.

Harry laughed at the brothers, finishing another beer. He felt lighter now after his little talk with Snape and that other guy, Flannigan. They were just working together, good, nothing serious was going on there. It was not like they were dating or anything. Well, not that Harry would care of course, but, just to be sure, he promised himself to look this Flannigan guy up, just to make sure, he was a safe bloke for Snape to work with.

He was so deep in his thoughts, his eyes stuck to the empty bottom of his beer glass, that he did not realize that the merry little group around him went rather quiet for no apparent reason.

The reason become screamingly apparent when someone touched his shoulder. He shuddered even before he would realize who it was, perhaps because with the grip came a scent of something so familiar, he knew exactly whom to expect next to him.

He looked up and he couldn’t even hold back the smile from his face even if he tried.

“Potter,” said Snape coldly. “Tomorrow afternoon, we’re having tea. You know where my office is, I trust...” He nodded, then just as he turned around, he added, “Three o’clock. Don’t be late.”

Harry did not say anything. He knew it would be pointless anyway. This was not a question, and even if it were and he would not have time, there was no room for rearranging with Snape. He got one chance, and he intended to live with it.


	3. Step Three: Boil the Water

He would fuck up the only chance he got, he was absolutely certain of that.

Harry watched himself in the mirror, taking calming, deep breaths. It was all rather futile, but he simply could not get himself to walk through that door just yet. And besides, “don’t be late” didn’t mean he could be early. He had five more minutes till three and he intended to use that time however he could. He swiped his sweaty hands in his pants, then checked himself once again. Nearly thirty years old and he still felt like a first year when it came to entering Snape’s office. How ridiculous.

The black door opened suddenly with a loud bang, that almost cracked the foggy window.

“Will you come in already, Potter?”

If anything, Harry was now fighting a heart attack as well, not just his low self-esteem. He shuffled awkwardly towards the door and once he was inside, the door closed behind him. Snape marched to his desk and sat, not even offering a handshake or even just a simple ‘Hello'.

Harry wasn’t sure how to act, so he just quietly took a seat in one of the white chairs and looked around. This place was not what he had expected and he felt disappointed. After all those hours of imagining the place, all he got was this monochrome room. Completely without any character. Even the dead, slimy animals in the jars would have been better, than the black desk and the white walls and this strangely sterile environment.

“Do you have a preference?” Snape asked as he summoned a tea tray. He seemed just as cold and distant as the whole office.

“Earl Grey, if you have it.”

Snape did have it, as it turned out because Harry soon could smell the beloved scent of bergamot wafting through the air. Snape was having a regular English Breakfast with a spot of milk. Once both of them had their little cups with steaming hot tea in it, Harry looked at the man, expectantly. When nothing happened for five more minutes besides Snape quietly sipping his tea, Harry took a biscuit. It was really good.

Three minutes passed again. The whole room was silent. In fact, it seemed nothing made a single sound except Harry’s teeth as they crumbled yet another tea cookie.

Harry was slowly, second by second, driven mad.

“Alright, what’s going on,” he cried suddenly, dropping his half-full cup, tea sloshing out.

“I was under the impression, Mr. Potter, that you wanted to have tea with me. Thus,” Snape pointed at the cups, “tea,” then he pointed at both of them, “and us.”

Harry stared at Snape, realizing that whatever he had hoped for, would never in a life time happen. Whatever, in fact, he thought he wanted from Snape, was now all reduced to strangling the man in a spoon full of tea.

“I don’t know what I’m doing here.” He sighed and stood. “Sorry for taking up your time, sir.”

“Sit down, Potter. It is rude to not finish one’s tea, especially, when one begged for it for more than a year.” Snape sneered. “And also, you are correct. You took up my time, and my time is precious, Potter. However, you can redeem your mistake by enlightening me, why in Merlin’s beard are you pestering me all the time.”

Harry sat, but said nothing.

“My business is fully legitimate. I break no rules even if the artefacts I work with come from a questionable source. It’s a fine line, but you can find all the connecting laws in the Ministry’s library in section five, aisle seven, in a book titled ‘Business Law for the Ethically Unethical’.”

Frowning, Harry just stared at the man. “I don’t care about business law,” he said, then took another cookie, chewing it slow, washing it down with some tea. Let the man play his twenty questions as long as he wanted.

“Is this some kind of revenge?” Snape spat. “You finally realized your hatred did not evaporate when you witnessed my memories?”

“I don’t hate you,” Harry replied coolly. “And no, I don’t want revenge of any kind.”

“It cannot be this case; you have been sniffing after me way before Flannigan showed up.”

“I don’t care about Flannigan,” murmured Harry with a shrug.

“Then what, pray tell, _do_ you care about, Mr. Potter?”

“Tea,” Harry said quietly, finishing up his. “I just wanted to have tea.”

With that, he stood and left, leaving a gobsmacked bat behind.

*****HPSS*****

Harry never wanted to have tea in his life ever again. It was confirmed, he would not touch the thing ever again, and grow old alone to be a bitter coffee drinker. He stepped into the toilet and flushed himself down, pulling on the lever so hard it was almost left in his hand.

Thankfully, the Ministry was never empty, and there was always something to do at the Auror office, where Harry headed right now. And as if to grant his wishes, Head Auror Robarts called out for him the second Harry stepped into his office.

“Potter, come here for a minute,” said the old wizard with a soft voice. Harry rather liked Robarts, he was a good Auror with strong morals but rather lenient when it came to rules and regulations.

“Yes, sir?” Harry asked, upon entering the office.

Robarts wasn’t alone. There was another gentleman in there with him. A young man, couldn’t have been more than twenty-two stood in front of Harry, skin dark brown, eyes like chocolate pudding. He was wearing light blue robes with rich embroidery and Harry could swear the stones on it were actual gems. He recognized, Lapis Lazuli, Aquamarine, several Blue Pearls, and many tiny sapphires. Even his jewellery seemed to be worth more than the money Harry had in Gringotts and that wasn’t a small amount either. Jade stones were around his wrist next to a golden bracelet. And was it a pair of pearls in his ears? He was wearing a turban on the top of his head, and his brown eyes were lined with black. He was rather handsome, Harry thought.

“Prince Surabhi, this is Auror Potter, one of our best Aurors, if not _the_ best. Potter, this Aahil Surabhi, a Prince from India.” Roberts made the introductions.

Harry wasn’t sure whether he needed to bow, or kiss hands or something else, but Prince Surabhi made it easy for him when he held out his hand. Harry shook it and they smiled at each other.

“Nice to meet you, Auror Potter.”

“The pleasure’s all mine,” said Harry.

“Prince Surabhi arrived here yesterday,” Robarts explained, “Looking for a little treasure of his that was stolen from him a couple of days ago. I will give the case to you, but remember it is imperative that the Prince’s whereabouts remain a secret.”

“I left behind my bodyguards, even my dear mother knows not that I have come here. This is a personal matter, and it is important it stays that way.” The prince said.

Harry nodded, “Certainly… Your Graciousness?” He was unsure of the title he was to use.

Laughing, Prince Surabhi waved his hands, “No, no.” He smiled. “I am to go… what is the word… ah, incognito, here.” With that, he started removing his turban. “As I said, no one can know I am here, my life would be in danger. Therefore, please leave my title here, where I will leave as well, all that makes me a prince.”

Couple minutes later, all his jewellery was removed, along with his turban. His fancy, glimmering gold slippers were exchanged to sneakers and pulling off his robes, he revealed torn jeans and snug, blue shirt. The mascara was cleaned from his face with magic and Harry was stunned to see that Prince Surabhi was using a ring instead of a wand to do magic.

“Prince Surabhi,” Harry started, upon looking at the young kid in front of him, “if you don’t mind me asking, how old are you?”

“Nineteen,” he laughed, then added, “And please call me Aahil.”

Robarts nodded for them both and Aahil stuffed his expensive robes and trinkets into a torn looking backpack, watching Harry expectantly, who just stared at the boy in surprise. It was as if a completely different wizard would be standing in front of him now. The young prince, a man of power and elegance had shed its skin and now was just a boy of nineteen with messy hair, much like Harry’s and a charming smile, who was needing his help.

“Well, Aahil,” he chuckled awkwardly. “Why don’t we go to my office and talk about what was stolen from you?”

The smile wavered on Aahil’s lips. “Must it be your office? I crave some sunshine. And I would kill for a good cup of tea.”

Hesitant, Harry gave a questioning look at his boss. Auror Robarts just shrugged. “I wouldn’t recognize him.” He noted merrily.

Harry conjured up a baseball cap and a pair of sunglasses and held it out for Aahil. “Just to be sure.”

*****HPSS*****

 “Are you sure?” Severus asked from the apprehensive looking man in front of him.

“Believe me, Snape, he is here. My sources have searched all of India for him, but he is gone, and no one knows where he is. Some say he went to Tibet, but I know that Prince, he is here and after me. Meditation is the last thing he is thinking of right now, he is after revenge and if he finds this box, my life is over. And if my life is over, so is your career,” Flannigan growled.

“There is no need for the dramatics, Flannigan,” Severus assured him. “Your box is with me, and even if your Prince is here in London, and even if he realizes so are you, he still needs to find me, and I guarantee you, that will not happen any time soon.”

“It better not, Snape. Don’t forget, ten thousand galleons! You could buy a lot of books for that amount of money.” Shouted Flannigan and then turned on his heels, disappearing from Severus’ office.

“Don’t I know that,” hissed Severus and stood too. The little blue box was in his pocket and it drove him mad. He couldn’t figure it out. He tried the most complex of charms on the little thing and it simply did not open. His research on it came back with nothing, absolute zero, but something deep inside him told him that the box was valuable and so was whatever made the maddening noise inside it. The gemstones on the outer side were rather common, yet a certain mystery lingered around the little blue box that made Severus certain that it was in fact worth more than the ten thousand he was offered for opening it.

He walked out of his office and into the bright sunshine outside. He was hungry and as there was nothing he could do at the moment with the blue box, he decided, he might as well have an early dinner, before he would close himself into a Library once more for a night of research and spell crafting. He was trying to come up with a spell, much like Alohomora, just several degrees more effective. That ought to open the little blue box.

He decided to leave the Leaky Cauldron for today, and look for a calmer place somewhere in muggle London. He buttoned up his suit, the heat not bothering him, and walked peacefully on the streets, watching the windows he had passed. Clothing boutiques, sport shops, sandwich bars lined the street, he walked past several restaurants, but none seemed sympathetic, until he spotted a little sign a couple of feet ahead that invited him in for a ham and Swiss croissant sandwich paired with iced bitter apple and cinnamon chai. His stomach growled appreciatively by the sound of that, and Severus hurried his steps.

The coffee shop seemed clean and elegant, the windows were open, glass doors pushed aside to let in the summer sunshine, though air conditioning was cooling the air inside. It was perfect, he thought, sitting down in a corner by the window. The waiter appeared right away and he placed his order.

“Excellent choice,” grinned the guy then left. It took him less than three minutes to deliver the iced bitter apple cinnamon chai and Severus was grateful for the swiftness. He took a sip and choked on it immediately. The drink was undoubtedly delicious, the coldness and the bitterness simply perfect for the summer. What induced the coughing fit wasn’t the chai but the two people who wandered in and sat down across the room from him. It was Potter and a young _boy_ , couldn’t be more than twenty, only a bimbo, not that Potter had a lot more years behind him.

The kid took off his cap and glasses and ran a hand through his black hair. His chocolate brown eyes scanned the room, and swiftly, Severus hid behind a menu. Not that he would be recognized, but why risk it.

His sandwich arrived and suddenly he felt as if his appetite had left long ago. Potter and the Indian looking boy were deep in conversation from the moment they sat down, their amiability obvious to everyone. Were they friends from long ago, perhaps? Or was this the beginning of a beautiful friendship? Or perhaps, was it not just friendship? As Severus looked around, he noticed that he was the only one sitting alone. The other seven tables all hosted two people, leaning in close, some even holding hands. And indeed, now that he looked at the place with a different set of eyes, he had to admit, that it was perfect for a date. It was filled with light, the music quiet enough for conversation, but in overall the noise loud enough that no one had to worry that they would be overheard.

He watched the handsome Indian bimbo who was explaining something to Potter, and it must have been one hell of a story because Severus had never seen the Auror this intrigued. He was leaning forward with something close to admiration on his face watching every word that came out from those lips intently. Why hadn’t Potter listened like this to him during Potions? Envy twanged in him, but he swallowed it back with a bite of his sandwich.

The ham and Swiss sandwich fell apart between his squishing fingers as he scrutinised the Indian with growing hatred, because Potter was suddenly blushing madly, his hands playing with his own iced bitter apple cinnamon chai tea. The Indian’s smug smile told Severus that he knew exactly what he was doing.

Severus watched the couple, forcing small bites of his leftover croissant down his throat but it felt as if he would be eating parchment. Why was Potter drinking tea with a handsome young man like that? Who was that man? His first thought was that perhaps he had met the prince Flannigan was so afraid of, but he had seen a picture of that man, and this Indian _boy_ looked nothing like that. While the Prince was covered in expensive jewellery, clothed in silk and wearing a turban, this kid here was just a typical English bimbo in torn jeans, tight, cotton shirt, ruffled black hair.

The conversation went on and a part of Severus itched to sit closer, but he was too afraid of being noticed. Instead, he just watched the couple. Soon he realized it wasn’t the ‘couple’ he was observing, just Potter, his own treacherous lips mimicking the sweet smiles of the young man. The moment this realization sunk, Severus cleared his throat, and swept off the smile from his face with a large gulp of his iced chai.

Then all of a sudden, the sandwich turned ash in his mouth as he watched the Indian touch Potter’s hand that was resting on the table. And to make it worse, Potter didn’t shake off the intrusive fingers. A contemplative expression appeared on his face, then he smiled. They both leaned forward and the Indian grinned, said something and Potter’s bright, cheerful laughter echoed in the coffee shop.

Severus decided to leave.

*****HPSS*****

Harry decided he rather liked Aahil. During their little dinner, Harry found out the story behind the Prince’s lost item, which coincidentally was a little blue box Harry had seen just two days ago with Snape and Flannigan. The name Edward Flannigan opened Aahil up completely and he told Harry the story of how he had met the wealthy, charming man – and how he had fallen in love with him.

Their first meeting happened many years ago, Aahil was only a boy of fifteen, but he was struck by the man’s charm. Ed, as he called him, was also funny and treated him less like a prince and more like a boy, what no one else did. Of course, Aahil was drawn to him right away. They explored the jungle on elephants, fed monkeys from their hands, and petted wild tigers. Aahil did everything to charm his new friend, and in return, Ed stole him out of the palace at night and took him out to have some fun. They walked the streets of New-Delhi, ate kebab, something Aahil could never enjoy being locked away in his palace most of the time.

Their friendship however, came to a rapid end when one night, the muggle police started chasing them. Only then, when Aahil insisted that the police must be wrong and they should just let themselves be caught, did Edward tell Prince Surabhi, that he was a thief, and he dealt with trading magical and muggle artefacts on the black market. He was here because he wanted to steal a yellow diamond necklace from a sultan, which he managed to do last night, but the robbery went wrong and he was almost caught. Aahil wasn’t impressed, but in the end, Edward saved his life, or at least, his reputation. Flannigan let himself be caught so the police would stop chasing the other man with him. He was arrested and put into a muggle cell, from where he obviously escaped a couple days later.

Four years passed and Aahil still couldn’t forget his friend and as time had a habit of making memories nicer, he reached out to Edward Flannigan, inviting him to his home on one simple condition: he would be treated as a prince himself, whatever he wanted brought to him, he could indulge in the sweetest of wines, clothe in the softest of silk, but under no circumstance was he to steal anything, or be prepared to lose his head.

Edward accepted the invitation and for months they have lived in luxury and joy. His childhood friend returned and Aahil couldn’t be happier. Until one night, Edward showed him friendship wasn’t all he could offer. Giddy from the sweet wine and the hot breeze of the summer night, they lied under the stars in the palace and Aahil was gifted with something sweeter than any wine in his country: a kiss.

Harry blushed listening to the details of Edward Flannigan’s talents in the bedroom – or outside – and no iced bitter apple cinnamon chai could cool him down. But of course, the story ended how he expected. Aahil showed Edward his most cherished possession, a little blue box and the next day woke to both Flannigan and the box being gone. Though the man deserved death for stealing from a prince, all Aahil wanted was the blue box and its content.

“It belonged to my mother.” Aahil told Harry.

“Well, give me a day, and I will have it back to you. I know exactly where it is,” Harry smiled having recognized the little blue box right away, when Surabhi showed him a picture. “So how much money are we pulling out of Flannigan’s hands?” He asked, thinking it wasn’t just Flannigan who would lose on this business, but Snape as well. And that thought filled him with great satisfaction.

“Oh, nothing,” laughed Aahil. “The box is worthless. My mother got it from my father, a simple man, who worked in a trick shop. There is a spell on it, which makes it seem as if it is worth a lot, and a trick to opening it. Mother was sickly you see, and hardly laughed. But the mystery of the little box filled her with strength she had never felt. She became alive while she tried to solve the mystery, but she couldn’t. In the end, he went back to my father, who had admired her kindness and gentle soul for years by then and asked him, how to open it. My father cunning man, really, told her, it is not simple. One must endure all sort of challenges. He made her promise to come back the next day and he would tell her what sort of challenges she needed to pass.”

“Did she go back?”

“Of course,” Aahil smiled, taking a sip from his chai. “And the next day, my father told her, she needs to learn to ride an elephant in order to prove she is fearless. And she did. Father says, he had never heard a voice so beautiful than the laughter of my mother when she fell in the mud. At the end of the day, mother asked him again, but father only told him, she needs to come back again. And she went back and he took her out onto the street and told her, she needs to prove her love of the people. So they talked to the people, ate their food, played their games all day long and everyone was happy, because the princess was smiling again, she was laughing, and running around.”

“Let me guess, when the day ended, he still didn’t tell her how to open the box,” Harry guessed, grinning.

“You are wrong, Harry,” laughed the prince. “My mother never asked about the box that night. But the next morning as the sun rose, she was at the trick shop, looking for my father. They spent day after day together, the mystery of the little blue box soon forgotten, yet the smile of mother, and with that the mood of the people as well was getting brighter and brighter. Then a month later, it was my father who brought up the box again and asked mother, ‘Do you know now, how to open it?’, who shook her head. Then finally, father told her to just kiss it. That is all the trick, you see. My father had been in love with my mother for years but knew he would never be let close to the princess. It was the princess who needed to initiate the friendship, which is why he tricked the box. The Scam-Spell made it look impressive and valuable, giving the impression that the item inside had the same quality. And the trick to opening it ensured my father that she would seek him out sooner or later. Which she did.”

“What was in the box?” Harry inquired, taken by the sweet story.

“An engagement ring of course, which once belonged to my grandmother. Compared to all the riches in the palace worthless, but to mother it was a token of love which later became her wedding ring.”

“Is that what’s still in the box?” Harry asked perplexed.

“No,” smiled Aahil. “Mother is still wearing that. This one is a different one. It’s a stupid little ring,” explained Aahil, but the little smile on his face contradicted him. “Once again, in money its worth is nothing. But to me, it means more than the world. It was a token from Edward. He gave it to me a week after the night we first made love. I remember his words to this day. I was leaning against the stone railing of the highest tower of the palace, New-Delphi glistered beneath our feet. I was bare like on the day I was born and so was he. He held me and said, not even this city shines as bright as my eyes. He put the ring on my finger and kissed me and then told me, among all the treasures he had seen, I was the one he loved the most.” Aahil laughed bitterly as he added. “Lies, all of it, now I know. Yet that ring… I need it,” he sighed. “Do you see now, why the box and the ring means so much to me? The same box, a different ring. Maybe not the love of my life, but Edward meant the world to me once.” Aahil finished his story with a sad tone.

“I promise to teach your thief a thing or two,” Harry said with a grimace.

Aahil just laughed. “There is no need. It was stupid of me to expect the fox to change, when I invited him to the henhouse, I see that now. I had no right to expect him to change for me.”

“If he loved you, he would have changed,” Harry stated, thinking of certain bitter wizards.

“If I loved him, shouldn’t I have accepted him as he was?” Aahil asked back with a raised eyebrow.

Harry felt himself blush as the truth of that sentence got to him. Why did he expect Snape to be nice to him, when they barely had a civil conversation? Just because Harry looked up to the man, it did not mean Snape saw anything more in him that the spoiled brat he had always assumed Harry was.

“You are very wise with only that nineteen years you have.”

“I learned my wisdom from my mother and father. Which is why now I know, I should have seen what Ed did was almost instinctive for him. He reaches for the brightest gem and if he likes it, he takes it. Accepting that truth, accepting that he is and always will be a thief helped me realize that that was what I loved the most in him. The freedom, the idea of always going against the rules appealed to me.” He scratched his chin and smiled. “But why do I have a feeling you know all too well, what I’m speaking of?”

Gulping, Harry said, “Well, there is this guy. Edward, I mean Flannigan hired him to open the box. Long story short, he used to be my teacher and we hated each other, but then it turned out he spent twenty years of his life protecting me, and suddenly I was looking at him differently. I asked him out a million times for tea and he always said no. Then yesterday, he finally said yes, and boy was I ecstatic. We had a cup of tea today, and it was horrible – and I don’t mean the tea. I don’t know why I expected things to go smoothly, but I somehow did. I thought we could move past our… past. But he was the same old git as he always had been.” Sighed Harry. “But what you just said, made me wonder, if I was perhaps just expecting too much of him, instead of letting him show who he really was. Even if it was a bitter asshole.”

“And if he is a bitter asshole?” Asked the prince with a knowing smile.

“I can accept it and learn to like him like that, or leave. But I cannot expect him to be nice, just because that’s what I want him to be, right?” He didn’t know why it was so easy to talk to Aahil. Maybe because he was a stranger, or perhaps it was the similarity between their affairs.

“Saying that you crave some steaming, hot tea with the gentleman, wouldn’t be a misunderstanding, either, correct?” Asked Surabhi smirking.

Harry laughed out loud. “Well yes, but not just that. I would love to have tea with him, believe me, I would really, really love to have some… hot and steamy tea with him. But I also want to see if this bitterness and hatred is the only thing between us or perhaps, I could make him smile, like your dad made your mom smile.”

Aahil reached out and gripped Harry’s arm lightly. A chair scraped the ground somewhere behind them and Harry was about to look over his shoulder, but then Aahil drove his attention back to him as he said, “What if… we could recreate the past? What if something good might also come out of this incident with Edward?”

“What do you mean?” Harry asked.

“What I mean Harry, is that your prince already has the box, now you just need to have his attention as well.”

*****HPSS*****

 “Can I have your full attention, please,” growled Potter in his doorway. He had just burst through it a minute ago, but Severus had been ignoring him ever since.

“Ah,” Severus looked up as if only now noticing the young man. Even the thought of Potter with that Indian yesterday still boiled his blood and he did not understand why. “Interested in some more tea?” he asked pressing every bit of resentment into the question.

Potter sneered at him as he hissed, “No, I’m actually here on Auror business.” There was a little twitch at the corner of Potter’s lips, which made Severus sit up straighter. “You see, I did check that book, you mention, the _Business Law for the Ethically Unethical_ and here’s an interesting thing. That little blue box you had the other day, it was stolen – as you well know – and you see your business and therefore you are only protected against the law _after_ you got your money and your transaction with your seller transpires. I’m sure you also know this. Which means it must be clear to you by now, why I’m here.”

“Potter…” Severus growled perfectly aware what Potter was talking about.

 Mercilessly, Potter went on, “So, unless you managed to open that little blue box, Severus Snape, I am afraid, you are under arrest for theft.” He said with a smug little smile and his wand in hand.

“You can't do that, Potter!” Protested Severus but in vain. Potter was coming closer. “You know I didn’t steal it!”

“Oh I do know it,” smirked Potter. “But you have it. And Prince Surabhi wants it back.”

“You could never prove it was me! I have never even been out of the country!”

“I don’t even need to prove it. By the time you get out of the Ministry however, no one will ever want to make business with an alleged thief.”

“I don’t have it,” lied Severus then watched as ropes were summoned and his wand was accio-ed from him. Resisting arrest would make the situation even worse, and attacking an Auror would surely put him into Azkaban – a place he hoped to avoid.

“Bad luck,” Potter shrugged and the ropes slithered around his wrists, tying themselves into a knot. “You are coming to the Ministry with me and we will get a warrant to search this place and your home. I will find that box, Snape, wherever you are hiding it.”

It was in fact still in his pocket and Severus was becoming more and more desperate. If they searched him, he would be arrested, Potter was correct regarding the law.

“Do you know how much it is worth, Potter? Ten thousand galleons!” He cried as Potter grabbed into his suit and headed towards the door with him.

“Yes, Prince Surabhi assured us that the item is very precious to him indeed,” said his former student in a calm voice, that drove Severus mad.

“I would be willing to-” He started, but thankfully Potter cut in.

“Careful there, Mr. Snape, you don’t want bribery added to your charges now, do you? Besides, I don’t care about money,” said Potter as they stepped outside the office.

“Tea then,” Severus offered quickly, before they would apparate to the Ministry. “How about tea. You like tea and you wanted to have tea with me.”

“You think you can bribe me with tea, Snape?” Hissed Potter, but they weren’t moving anywhere anymore, so Severus thought he was getting closer.

“I think everyone has their price,” he said carefully. “Give me a week. I’ll do anything you want. Even if I just try opening this thing, I get three thousand galleons, and I’m more than willing to split that with you. Moreover, when the week is over the box will be back with Flannigan and you can arrest him, the actual thief.”

“You can keep the money,” said Potter again. But then, hesitantly scratched his chin. “Anything I want, huh… well alright. By the end of the week, I will have a box and a thief, whether it’s you or Flannigan, I won't give a damn. And until then, you are mine.” There was a dark glint in Potter’s green eyes that stirred something in Severus that hadn’t been stirred in a while. “Deal?”

The ropes vanished from his wrists and Potter let go of him. He was holding out a hand and Severus shook it. “Deal,” he said with a tight nod, trying not to think of what that dark glance was doing to him right now.

His black wand was unceremoniously pressed against his chest and Potter disappeared but instead of a farewell, he only said, “Be ready tonight. At seven sharp.”


	4. Step Four: Add the Leaves

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let's spice things up a bit...

It was seven o’clock sharp and there it was the dreaded knock on his door.

“Come in,” Severus said and stood, turning off the light at his table. The little blue box was left in the middle, there was no reason to hide it now.

Potter walked in wearing a muggle suit, similar to his. Severus was surprised for two reason. He had never seen Potter in one, and god damn, it looked nice on the young man.

Potter glimpsed the little blue box on the desk but instead of a frown, a little smile appeared on his lips. “Did you figure it out?” He asked and Severus had the sudden feeling that maybe Potter knew how to open the box.

“No,” he shook his head. “I’m trying to come up with a stronger version of Alohomora that would force it open, but I am unsuccessful as of yet, as you can see.”

He walked towards the door, flicked his wand bringing darkness to the whole office. The light from the corridor lit Potter from behind and Severus felt another twinge of that something that hadn’t been stirred in a while. He was becoming more and more concerned about his reaction to this grown up Potter, but he brushed it away for now.

As he passed Potter at the doorway, the young man made a little move towards him. Severus caught a whiff of a scent and the stirring turned less ignorable right away. The smell reminded him of mornings at his home in Scotland with English Breakfast steaming between his hands. Drawn to the mystery of the scent, he couldn’t stop himself. He leaned to Potter and inhaled the air around the young man.

“Wha-“ Potter breathed. “Did you just smell me?”

“Did you spill tea on yourself?” Severus asked his tone low.

“Did not!” Potter spluttered.

Severus was almost close enough to feel the heat from his cheeks. He inhaled once more, letting the air rush deep into his lungs, filling him up with the beloved scent of his favourite tea, then turned to close the door to his office and cast a couple of charms to make sure it would remain like that till he came back in the morning.

“I’m ready for whatever punishment you felt would suit my crime,” He told Potter.

The man had the nerve to grin. “I won't spank you, Snape, you don’t have to worry.”

Severus tried to glare at Potter but the imbecile grabbed his arm and the next moment, the nice evening air filled his mind mixed with the stench of garbage that had been left out on the sun to rot. Thankfully, that chased the smell of English Breakfast tea from his memories. Disgusted, he looked around.

The alley they stood in was empty, unless one would regard the bags of old trash as company.

“How lovely,” Severus noted icily, but Potter ignored him.

“Come on,” said the young man and walked towards the end of the alley where yellow light shone as the beacon of civilization.

Severus followed him and the street they had stepped on was suddenly bustling with people, the sound of cars and busses was now amplified that the tall building didn’t shield it from them, and the only calm sight was the Thames rolling mellow just ten feet from them. They passed strangers that were lulling around taking photos and as Severus studied them, he realized what those photos would show and where they were headed.

The National Theatre of London was lit brightly even though the sun hasn’t set completely. Its robust walls bathed in red light tonight. The crowd that was gathering in front of it was large. Women in fancy dresses clang to men in suits, children ran around in shiny black shoes that clapped on the grey stone beneath their feet.

“What the hell are we doing here?” Severus rounded on the wizard next to him, but Potter didn’t stop to explain anything. He strode through the thick mob of strangers, smiling down on the children who bumped into him, and apologising in a pleasant tone from the adults he gently pushed away to make space for the two of them.

“I really hope he’s here,” Potter muttered under his breath and Severus thought if the Indian bimbo from the day before showed up – surely not, but what if – he would Apparate right away. Just as that resolution passed his mind, Potter said now louder, “Ah, there he is…”

And of course, who else would rush towards them but that handsome Indian, soft smile on his lips, tight shirt, different colour from yesterday, but still putting an accent on his slim body, fitted jeans drawing attention to curves and lean, long legs. Severus growled and grabbed Potter, hauling him around so they would face each other.

“What the hell is this about?” He realized all of a sudden that he wasn’t supposed to know the boy, and he certainly was not supposed to feel this blinding jealousy when it came to Potter.

“Harry, there you are… This crowd is…” confident voice went silent when Severus glared at the Indian.

Potter turned to the bimbo as well. “Did you manage to-?”

“Oh yes, yes, of course,” smiled the boy and Severus remembered he promised himself to get away from here, yet he couldn’t move an inch. To leave Potter here with this bimbo and his long legs, round arse, and chocolate eyes? Out of the question.

An envelope exchanged hands and Potter pulled two tickets from it.

“Thanks a lot,” he said with a bright grin.

“No need,” said the Indian then winked. His eyes shifted to Severus and he looked him over from top to toe. Severus managed an outraged expression only long enough until he felt a hand on the small of his back, stirring him away.

Potter was smiling mysteriously, and Severus looked over his shoulder to see how the Indian boy would react to their hasty departure but he did not see anyone anymore. On the spot where the boy had stood, now was an older gentleman with his two grandchildren clutching his hands looking anxiously up the crowd that was becoming tighter and tighter.

All at once, the noise became louder, children’s exited cries welled up from here and there and the crowd, like one big mass moved forward and spilled into the theatre. He could not leave now, Apparition was out of the question, however, even if he did run from the situation, he would not lose Potter, as the young man’s fingers were still lingering on his back, warm and comforting against the horde of strangers.

Once inside, Potter slipped easily through the different sized groups with the ease and elegance of a Seeker, only a gentleman held them up for a second to see their tickets.

“Good evening, Mr. Potter,” the man greeted them and motioned for someone to take his spot between the red velvet ropes, and soon again, they were sliding though a different crowd, now three of them. Less and less people stood in their way, until they reached a corridor where only two lingered in front of an open door. They were led to the end of the hall and stopped in front of a life-size portrait of Shakespeare.

“Through here,” motioned the man, and moved to at least partially cover them from the two Muggles not far from them.

Potter, taking Severus’ hand now, sneaked through the portrait, pulling Severus with him. He tried to get himself free of the touch, but was distracted when Shakespeare winked at him.

A second later, he forgot all about his ire at being held. The view that welcomed him was magical, historical, and his heart missed a beat as his eyes wandered on the painted walls, taking in the real candles hoovering in thin air, the large, exquisite chandelier hanging over them, the plum coloured velvet curtains, the soft silk draped over the audience’s seats. This had been something Severus longed to see, to experience since he was a child who learned there was a magical world.

The warm hand that now softly held on to his fingers tightened for a moment, and Potter smiled up at him.

“Come, our seats will be that way.”

Severus did not resist the fingers as they slipped between his, unable to take his eyes from the magnificent view. The awe he felt made him obedient and he followed Potter. He wasn’t the only one who was taken by the place’s startling ambiance. Children and adults alike walked on ancient marble mouth agape and eyes wide. It wasn’t just the rich design that had affected all of them, Severus was sure. He could feel, literally _sense_ currents of magic brushing lovingly against him, drawing him inside a new world full of wonders.

They walked closer and closer to the stage, then Potter pulled him up some stairs and they pushed through crimson drapes and stepped into the gallery. The little balcony hosted only two chairs, and Severus leaned over the railing to see a large crowd – though much smaller compared to the one outside – milling around in the auditorium, looking for their own seat-numbers.

“What…?” He breathed turning around and looking at Potter. “How…?”

He could not bother to hide his reaction. He could have, perhaps force some kind of tediousness on his face if he really tried, but he knew, no one in their right mind would feel anything else then admiration for being able to visit this place, especially on this special night.

“A friend of mine was invited,” Potter explained and took two glasses of champagne from a silver tray. “Unfortunately, he could not attend, so he asked me if I would be interested. I said yes. It was sort of last minute, and all my friends had other engagements already,” Severus let out a small grunt at this, given no one in their right mind would leave this opportunity out, “and besides, you’re mine for the week.” Added Potter with that dark glint in his eyes again. He held out one of the slim crystal glasses to Severus and said with a half-smile. “They seem to be out of tea.”

Severus took the drink, the glass cool and damp against his finger. “Shall we then?” Asked Potter, motioning towards the comfortable, highbacked chairs.

As they finally took their seats, and Severus took a sip of the champagne to calm his nerves, a deep, serene voice spoke, it seemed, from every wall.

“Good evening, and let me welcome you all to this very special day in the Magical Theatre of Wondrous Arts. The play will start shortly and we would like to request everyone for the safety of our artist that all who came to enjoy and not to perform tonight, hide their wands somewhere deep in their pockets. The journey you are about to take, will transfer you to a different magical world,” the tone deepened making the audience shiver with anticipation, “however we must warn you, the magic you will see, will be real and therefore, might be dangerous for the careless. Join us then on this thrilling adventure, sharpen your swords and don your hats. Let the fairy dust sink on to your skin, and your heart be charmed with the magic of theatres and the words of one of the greatest wizards.” The voice quieted to a faint whisper as it said, “Let us celebrate with joy and delight the one-thousandth birthday of the boy, who never wanted to grow up!”

The theatre darkened and the plum curtain rose into the air. Fairy dust, real and tangible sifted through the darkness and Severus could hear gentle sparkling as fairies dashed over their head, laughing mischievously.

*****HPSS*****

The plum curtains closed at last, but the magic was still with them. It was as if they had still not returned to London. The air felt clearer, the moon shone brighter and Tinker Bell guided them along the Thames. And the journey didn’t seem to stop. They relived over and over their adventure at Neverland, and they talked and talked of it until the Big Ben chimed midnight.

Harry already put the night down as a success. Even when Aahil had mentioned the anniversary gala, he already knew Snape would love it. A lover of English Literature, a collector of old books surely could not despise a story like this.

“How Potter?” Snape asked putting his suit jacket from one arm to the other. “How did you manage to get tickets to this event? Two years ago, there was already a waiting list for them and tickets were all sold out last winter.”

“Flannigan isn’t the only one who is willing to give a lot for that little blue box,” answered Harry.

“The mysterious prince?” Snape asked with a sigh as he leant against the stone fence, his eyes following the Thames beneath him.

“Yes,” came the reply. Harry joined the man at the railing. “He is a very generous soul.”

“What else did he give you, Potter? A key perhaps?”

Harry watched him with a smile in the corner of his lips. “You think he told me how to open it.”

“Did he?” Asked Snape eagerly.

“I thought you would like the challenge.”

“I like ten thousand galleons and not being arrested even more.” Snape watched Harry with black eyes. “So… did he?”

“Yes,” Harry replied honestly. “Yes, Snape, I know how to open it. But I’m not allowed to say it.”

“Why?”

“Prince Surabhi said if you want to see its secrets, you have to open it on your own. The adventure lies in learning the how.”

“This prince of yours sounds rather annoying,” Snape growled but didn’t force the subject. It seemed he either didn’t care about the box right now or he was fairly certain that the new spell he was crafting would do the trick. Harry felt like laughing as he thought of how easy it actually was.

They stood there for minutes in comforting silence, listening to the tender murmurs of the dark river, letting the calm waves smooth away all the tension between them.

“You surprised me tonight,” said Snape out of the blue. “You really surprised me, Potter.”

“I wanted to go to the Magical Theatre of Wondrous Arts for ages now,” Harry answered with a smile. “Good thing I have you now to keep me company.”

“I am just glad you prefer culture over… pop concerts for instance. I might choose Azkaban over Celestina Warbeck.”

Laughing, Harry turned to the man and held out his hand. “Well, until the next time then, when I will require your services again.”

Snape just eyed the outstretched limb for a moment, then slowly slid his fingers over Harry’s. His grip however was sudden and forceful and all pleasantries were dropped when Snape pulled Harry against his chest. “I’ll figure out what you’re after, Potter, even if I die trying.” He announced, his tone dark.

Heartbeat thundering, Harry opened his mouth to say, he really only wanted some tea, but he wanted that now, please, thank you. But then Snape leaned in and took another deep breath, so close to Harry as if he tried to inhale the air directly touching Harry’s skin.

“Goodbye, Potter.” He murmured and disappeared, leaving Harry there with all his cravings. Tea and otherwise.

*****HPSS*****

 “Good afternoon, Auror Potter,” said a deep voice in the doorway and Harry’s eyes snapped up at his surprising guest. “I thought, you harass me day after day at my workplace, why shouldn’t I return the favour?”

His colleagues, even Head Auror Robarts watched him and his tall, black clad guest. He could hear Ron’s quiet grunt from the desk right next to him as he, too watched the dark man slowly move inside their little cubicle. Harry folded the parchment he was working on and motioned at the chair on the other side of his desk. “Take a seat, Mr. Snape. What can I do for you?”

“You? Nothing,” said the man, leaning with both hands on the back of the chair. “I on the other hand, might be of some service.” He offered sweetly.

“What makes you think that?” Harry asked, leaning back on his own chair.

“Well, I don’t know. A hard-working man like you… surely there is something I could aid you with.” Snape’s tone was light and almost kind and not in the least fooling anyone in the office much less Harry or Ron.

Ron cleared his throat, pulling Harry’s attention away from the man. Harry looked at his friend, who rapped on his watch with the tip of his forefinger. Harry checked the time. Five thirty said the clock on the wall and Harry’s eyes swiftly moved back over Ron. Silently, the ginger just shrugged, his motions saying, ‘You might as well.’

Harry’s green gaze turned back at Snape who was still intently eyeing him across the desk. “Hm… I don’t think there is anything right now, Mr. Snape.” He crossed his legs and waited, twirling his wand between his fingers. Snape wanted something, this wasn’t just a courtesy call. The question was, was this about the little blue box, or about Peter Pan and Neverland.

“I take it you are not busy then?” Snape said still too considerate for it to be honest.

Harry shook his head. “Not in the least. We were about to head out, in fact.”

“Good,” Snape said, straightening himself. His tone was back to normal – deep and serene. “Shall we go then?”

Grinning, Harry pushed himself up from the chair and leant into Snape’s face. “Go where?” He asked knowing the answer. Even Ron laughing quietly behind his Quidditch magazine knew what Snape would say.

“It’s tea time, Mr. Potter.”

They found a peaceful little place near the Ministry and sat outside as the weather was pleasantly warm. The trees on the street covered their table with a nice shade, but the heat of the summer still reached them. Soon they were sitting there with sleeves rolled up, Harry with his Orange Earl Grey Iced Tea and Snape with his hot, steaming English Breakfast tea. Harry couldn’t wrap his head around Snape’s fascination with English Breakfast. He was through with his second cup already.

“How can you drink that in this heat?” He asked suddenly, screwing up his nose.

Snape slowly lifted his cup, slim, pink lips touching the rim. Black eyes trained on Harry, he took a small gulp. Then, he licked his lips, making Harry suddenly wish to learn a spell that would help him become an inanimate object – a tea cup perhaps.

“Without a problem, it seems,” said Snape, with a grimace, but it didn’t fool Harry. This meeting was a lot better than their first, the atmosphere felt lighter.

So, he just smiled, sipping his Orange Earl Grey Iced Tea. “Have you been at The Lost Boys recently?”

“Not particularly. I don’t visit often, unless they have something I want to buy.”

“It’s an exquisite book club, Snape, not black market for rarities. You should be going there to enjoy a conversation with fellow booklovers.”

Snape shrugged indifferent, “I have no need to discuss what I read. I am however in need of newer volumes from different levels of rarity. Which is what you have witnessed a year ago, when we have met there.”

“I heard there will be a showcase there tonight.”

“Yes,” Snape waved nonchalantly. “Nothing of importance. The list for tonight’s exhibition is, if I may say, rather subnormal.”

“Subnormal?” Harry cried outraged. “You dare call the mother of _Hercule Poirot_ and _Miss Marple_ subnormal?”

“Wait, what?” Snape asked back, his disinterest now turning to surprise. “ _Agatha Christie_? There was no Christie on the list.”

“Well, I don’t know what list you saw, but there will be a signed first edition of _Parker Pyne Investigates_ there tonight. Are you telling me, you didn’t know?”

“I wasn’t… they didn’t… Potter! You better not be joking about this!” Snape fumed.

“I’m not!” said Harry seriously.

“First edition, you said?” Snape asked back, and it seemed he was panicked now.

“Yes,” Harry assured him. “And signed.”

“Oh lord…” Snape groaned as if hurt. “How did I miss this?” He mumbled under his breath. He pushed his chair away from the table and stood. “I need to go. I apologize, but I… I need to…” He was stuttering, something Harry found very remarkable and not less adorable.

“Good luck,” smiled Harry at Snape’s back, who only waved at him as he rushed away.

Yes, no doubt, this meeting went a hundred times better than the first.

*****HPSS*****

Only half an hour till the exhibit would open and he still didn’t have a way in. Unbelievable, but Potter was right. A signed, first edition of _Agatha Christie_ _’_ _s_ _Parker Pyne Investigates_ would be on display at the Lost Boys Secret Book Club but the problem was Severus didn’t know where the showcase would be. What was the benefit of a secret book club, namely the always changing location, and in general the always present secrecy concerning the members, was also a disadvantage when it came to be finding the next location without first signalling interest to the agent – which Severus failed to signal, given the first time he had seen the exhibit’s list of books, he didn’t see anything of interest. As it turned out, the list changed almost last minute and indeed the first edition was there, already in its secured cabinet.

Damning himself for not being better informed and damning Potter too, just out of habit, he roamed the pristine floor of his office, thinking. How could he get into the book club? Who could help him? Who would know the location? On and on, he ploughed the circles into the black granite, but nothing came.

Until something – or rather someone – did. The knock on the door surprised him. His office was dark, no one should have known he was there, the light was turned off and the only brightness came from the city’s lights. Carefully, wand in hand, he walked to the door, trying to figure out to whom the dark shadow belonged to.

“Come on, Snape, I can see you in there! I don’t have all night.”

“Flannigan,” Severus groaned inwardly, then opened the door against his better judgement. “Evening,” he welcomed his customer.

“Hi,” said the man, pushing inside past Severus. He looked around confused, then flicked his wand, bringing brightness to the room. “Did you figure it out?”

Severus didn’t want to mention the fact that he spent almost all day focused on Potter and not trying to figure out the mystery of the little blue box, so all he said was, “Almost.”

“Almost?” Flannigan deadpanned. “Snape, listen, I’m not paying you this money for _almost_.”

“You are not paying me anything as of now, and may I remind you, that currently I need to be extra careful while asking around given the Aurors are looking for your little trinket as well.”

“The Aurors? What the hell are you talking about?” Flannigan cried.

“Your prince sought out help, Flannigan,” Severus informed him.

“Oh god, so he _is_ here…” the American fell into one of the chairs and buried his face in his palm.

Severus summoned a bottle of whisky and poured out two glasses. “Here,” he said handing one of the tumblers to Flannigan. “It seems we both need it tonight.”

They drank in comfortable silence, none of them in the mood to talk. Severus watched the clock tick away the precious seconds he could have spent admiring the pages filled with Pyne’s tales, but instead wasted here in his office. If only Potter had told him about this earlier. If only Potter…

Potter…

Hold on, Potter knew about the exhibition.

Potter was excited about it.

Which meant, Potter wanted to see it.

Which also meant, Potter knew all along where the exhibition would be. He must be there even now, in fact. That was why he mentioned it in the first place. He wanted to brag about the fact that he would see something like this. Hold on, no, Potter didn’t know Severus wasn’t going. Could it be, that Potter thought they would meet there tonight?

But why… why would Potter even want to meet with him at the book club tonight?

“I don’t mean to kick you out,” he told Flannigan. “But I need to be someplace else.”

“Is this about the box?” Flannigan asked, standing up and pulling on his jacket.

“Not… quite.” Severus confessed carefully.

Flannigan laughed. “Don’t worry, I don’t actually expect you to spend every hour of the day with my little blue box. I’m just glad at least one of us can think of something else…” He waved goodbye and slipped out of the office, his walk somewhat lacking his usual confidence.

Severus locked up the office, forgetting soon about the change in Flannigan’s behaviour. Then he just stood in from of his closed door for minutes.

Where the hell did Potter live?

*****HPSS*****

Potter lived not far from him.

It took him some time and a trip to the Ministry, but the slip of paper in his hand confirmed that he could do anything he set his mind to. Potter’s address let him not far from his office. He was actually rather surprised to see how close they were day after day.

It was only a twenty-minute walk from his workplace, and in the summer evening, and especially after all that whisky, it was a rather refreshing walk and soon Severus found himself in front of Harry Potter’s door.

He knocked, not knowing what he wanted. If the door didn’t open, it would mean Potter was still out there, and he didn’t have to see that righteous face and smell that English Breakfast scent that seemed to drive him mad. But if the door did open, he got to question Potter about the book. The possibility that Potter hadn’t gone to see the first edition didn’t even occur to him.

Fortunately – or unfortunately, he still wasn’t all that sure – the door opened and Potter stood in his doorway absolutely astounded.

“Snape? What…” He gaped.

“The book,” Severus rushed him, opening the door more widely, and stepping into the apartment, leaving a gobsmacked wizard by the door. “You have seen it, haven’t you?’

The door closed finally and Potter followed him into his own flat. “Why don’t you come in,” he mumbled, then, once they stood face to face, he nodded. “Yes.”

“Tell me!” Severus ordered. “Tell me everything!”

“Snape, it’s late, and I have work in the morning. Can't we do this tomorrow?”

“Definitely not, I need to hear everything about it,” insisted Severus.

“You are obsessed. Which is why I don’t get why you just didn’t ask me to take you there. I would have, you know. They have good tea.”

“I don’t give a fuck about tea, Potter. Tell me about the book. Is it in good condition?”

“Perfectly preserved,” nodded Harry. “I need to go have a shower. I smell of cigars and old people. Can we continue this tomorrow?”

“No, I’ll just wait,” Severus said, to his belief, considerately. He sat down onto the couch next to a pillow and a nicely folded blanket and looked around.

Potter’s apartment was the complete opposite of his. The design was new and clean. While Severus’ home had an antique vibe, this place screamed modern. But he saw something that they had in common. Potter’s walls much like his were lined with shelves and shelves of books.

Arms crossed, Potter stared at him. He wasn’t outraged, yet, but seemed to be getting there shortly. Severus looked up at him, eyes darting away from the young man who kept staring at him relentlessly.

“Please…” Severus said quietly, when the persistent gaze did not falter. “I need to hear about it.”

Potter took a deep breath, stared at him for some more time then turned on his heels and stormed out of the living room. A couple minutes later he was back, carrying a brown wooden box. He placed it carefully on the coffee table in front of Severus and opened it.

“There,” he said, turning away but Severus grabbed his wrist.

Black eyes met green and once again, their staring contest was on. “What is this supposed to mean?”

“You wanted to hear about it, didn’t you? Here, you can listen to it tell its tales. You can touch it, read it, but make sure to use gloves. If there’s a fingerprint on it, Hermione will kill me.”

“Granger?” Severus breathed. He didn’t dare look at the book and he didn’t dare let Potter go either. Something told him that if he let the man disappear, he would be left without the book as well.

“It’s hers.” Potter explained. “She let the Lost Boys borrow it for a night. They have been pestering her for ages now. She was busy tonight, so I had to take care of it. She and Ron were out on a date, so I didn’t want to go to their place and return it after the exhibit. In case… you know…they ended the date with a cup of tea.”

Severus was staring hypnotised at the book. Could it be? Could this really be reality or was he dreaming?

“Can I go have a shower now please?” Potter begged.

He finally let go of the man, keeping his eyes on the book in case it tried to vanish. But it did not. It stayed there in its wooden box. Glorious. Beautiful. Rare. He just stared at it mesmerized for minutes. The cloth cover was slightly rubbed on the edges. The silver letters faded slightly but still shined in the light. It was perfect, it was a dream come true, it was something unique and entirely enticing and Severus’ mind was not focused on the book at all.

It was the scent in the air, the light smell of English Breakfast wafting around him as if he had a mug of tea there with him. But he did not and the kitchen was empty and dark, no one was brewing anything there much less tea. And yet that stirring scent of mornings spent huddled up on his couch with a good book filled his brain and the signed first edition was forgotten. He stood and closed his eyes taking a deep breath, trying to figure out where the smell originated.

He followed the trail like a hound, out of the living room, tracing Potter’s steps. The scent was stronger in Potter’s bedroom, but it didn’t come from there. He did find a box of incense stick, but the label said citrus and not English Breakfast and besides, it wasn’t even lit.

Severus kept walking, searching the source, drawn to it like a bee to flowers. He almost blew off the door that stopped him, but realized last minute, he was a guest in Potter’s home, he probably should not demolish anything.

Impatiently, he waited, listening to the sound of cascading water, but still strangely hypnotised by that scent. What on earth could cause this? Did Potter hide a tea factory in there? Was he bathing in hot tea? Did he-

The door opened and the scent spilled out, wrapped itself around Severus, and overloaded his – usually clever– brain reducing him to nothing but a caveman.

He grabbed Potter and pushed him up against the doorframe, pressing against him with his whole body to keep him in place. He took a deep breath over Potter’s neck.

“Wh-what?” Stuttered the young wizard. “Snape, what the hell… oh hell… what the… oh god…” His demanding voice faded when Severus followed the beloved scent of English Breakfast tea and realized it came directly from Potter. It was all over him. It was stuck to his skin, it dripped from his wet hair. Severus caught a drop on the tip of his finger – easily done as the goose bumps on Potter’s skin stopped the water. He lifted it to his nose and smelled it first, then licked it off. Yes, it tasted almost like tea, fainter and mixed with something else, something unique and-

Potter tried to push him off, but Severus held on ever stronger. His hands gripped Potter’s waist, fingertip digging into warm, wet skin and he pushed again, crushing the young body against hard wood. Potter groaned in pain, his head lolled back, his lips parted, eyes closed and his hands sought support in Severus’ long hair and bony shoulder.

Potter stopped all resistance, and Severus found that weird – weirder even than the fact that he was in Potter’s home, pressing him all but naked against a doorway, because he was sure, Potter could turn the situation around with a couple of swift moves. He was an Auror, yet now he left himself be handled in his own home.

“What do you think you’re doing?” He hissed against Potter’s ear, unable to step away, to put some distance between him and that wonderful scent. But in truth, he never wanted to get away from that scent.

“Trying to get dressed…” Potter pressed out, fingers tightening in Severus’ hair.

“Hmph…” was all Severus could grunt out. His lips were so close to the source of that enticing aroma, he couldn’t help but wonder – would Potter taste like that? Would the boy taste of English Breakfast? Would he bring back memories of afternoons spent on the window sill reading, while rain tapped on the glass? Would tasting him cause the serenity English Breakfast brought him every morning? Would that rush of energy be there, waking him up?

“What… what are you…” Potter groaned, hand roaming on Severus’ back, clutching his shirt. “What do you want?” He asked, breathless.

“Tea,” Severus said darkly, voice husky. “I want tea.” His lips brushed accidentally against the skin on Potter’s neck as he spoke. The brief connection sent a flash of madness through his body.

Potter tilted his head. “Drink up,” he offered, moaning, when Severus’ finally licked the line of his neck.

_Inebriating_. The taste, the smell. Potter. All of it and one by one everything made Severus drunk with need. Potter was delicious, better than any tea he ever had. Hot, tasty, wild, bold – everything in one unique flavour, spiced with rough desire.

But it wasn’t the taste that brought the rush of energy and woke him up. It was the bang of a door and a male voice, shouting after Potter with a slight Indian accent.

“Harry, Harry? Are you home? What happened? Did you two meet at the book club?”

Severus stepped back swiftly as if Potter, like a mug of freshly brewed delicious tea, had just burnt him.

“Don’t-” Started Potter but Severus turned on his heels and vanished.


	5. Let it Steep

“Don’t think I have forgotten about you,” Severus told the little box the next morning.

Given he had spent the night restless and still feeling a bit drunk because of Potter’s scent, he had to have kept his mind busy somehow. What else to distract him better, than the mystery of the little blue box. He managed to finish his advanced Alohomora in just about two hours. It was remarkable how well he progressed, at two in the morning, riding a caffeine induced wave of euphoria. He had brewed the strongest English Breakfast he ever had, one after the other until the spell was done.

He tested the new spell on various objects that he had previously closed with some advanced magic, and his all-nighter proved fruitful. His new spell opened each and every closed cupboard, sock drawer, tube of lube.

He took the little blue box in his hand and admired it for a moment, letting its aura of mystery fill him up with curiosity one last time. Then, he cast the spell.

“ _Pandolomora_ ,” he whispered and a blinding white light filled his office. There was a click and he felt triumph for a moment, then he realized it was only the closed drawer of his desk – the little blue box was still stubbornly locked on his palm. “How?!” He snarled, but the box remained silent, keeping all its secrets to itself.

And to Potter, came the sudden realization.

He needed to get the solution from Potter! Of course, it was so simple now! Why he even bothered with the spell in the first place, when he could just use Potter to tell him all the information he needed to know. All he had to do was to find Potter’s weak spot and the young man would hand him the key to all this misery himself when pressured a bit.

And in the meanwhile, Severus could also get revenge for Potter’s elaborate little plan to humiliate him. It still riddled him how the man new about his obsession with English Breakfast, but to use that sacred drink as a weapon was so outrageous, all fibres in Severus’ body called for reckoning.

Because what else could this be about. Potter had been step by step orchestrating this grand plan to set him up in some ridiculous way and Severus almost fell for it last night. It had been close – too close even, and it was all a consequence of his passion for tea. How dare Potter use his favourite drink against Severus!

He knew he should not have lowered his defences but after the Peter Pan play, Severus truly believed Potter had changed, that he became a better man, void if his childhood hatred and arrogance. And once more, he was tricked. But just how low would Potter go to act out this revenge of his?

Severus sat down behind his desk and summoned the tea set from the little office kitchen. He poured himself another cup of strong English Breakfast. As he waited for the leaves to soak out completely, he took a couple of deep breathes, remembering that alluring trail of scent that had led him to Potter, the little drops of water that faintly tasted of black tea, the man’s long neck readily offered up so that Severus could take another sip from that divine taste.

The cup almost shattered between his firmly grasping fingers. He would make Potter regret every fake invitation to tea or dinner, every smile he so casually had cast at Severus, every hello, and goodbye he had pestered Severus with in the past year. And in the end, he would get the secret to the little blue box.

*****HPSS*****

Retrieving the little blue box was forgotten that morning. Aahil still looked at Harry apologetically when he left the apartment, but what had happened couldn’t be changed unfortunately. Still feeling Snape’s lips on his neck, his wet tongue sliding on his skin, Harry set off to work, knowing it would be a bad day for sure.

And so, it seemed he was perfectly right. On his way to the Ministry he walked past Snape’s building and saw Edward Flannigan enter the building. Definitely not because he wanted to spy on the man, he went into the café on the opposite side and counting the passing minutes, he waited patiently with an amazing smelling Hibiscus tea in hand.

According to the little shop’s clock – that Harry would swear went wrong – fifteen long minutes later, Flannigan and Snape left the building together. Harry ran outside and cried after Snape, but what he would say to him, he didn’t know yet.

The two wizards were so deep in conversation that that they didn’t even hear him. Disappointed and slightly hurt, Harry turned his back and headed towards the office.

“So how did it go last night?” Ron asked when Harry squashed himself behind his desk.

He sighed and shook his head.

“What, he didn’t like the book? Are you telling me I stole from my wife in vain, Harry?”

“You _stole_ the book from Hermione?” Harry cried.

“Well, she kept saying no, but you looked like a puppy who has been kicked in the arse repeatedly. If she knew what’s going on, I’m sure she would have lent it without a word. I don’t know why we have to keep her in the dark. It’s Hermione, for Merlin’s sake.”

“I just really don’t want to hear her saying I told you so, when I tell her it’s about Snape.”

“Mate, even the blind can see, you’re into him.”

“Well, we might have to bring her on board, too, anyway,” Harry sighed.

“So it didn’t go well, then?”

“He didn’t even come to the Lost Boys,” Harry laughed. “Then he showed up at my apartment. I gave him the book to check out, then he attacked me at the bathroom, when I was stark naked. Then Aahil came home.”

“Attacked as in…?” Ron asked tentatively as if not sure whether he wanted to hear the answer or not.

“He was all over me, Ron, I don’t get it. One minute he’s a git, the next he’s sniffing me like a dog in heat. He licks me, then runs away. It’s bonkers.”

“I shouldn’t have asked.” Ron stated staring blindly in front of him. “I should not have asked…” He whispered traumatized. “Anyway,” he shook himself. “Hermione will drop by this afternoon. _You_ will tell her everything. And then she will tell you what to do. We should have done this from the start, Harry.”

Hermione arrived a few minutes after three and it took the two of them a little more than an hour to fill her in with everything. After a well-earned glare for stealing her prized first edition, she just rolled her eyes, but never said “I told you so,” for which Harry was rather grateful.

The three of them went out to have lunch at a nearby café, chosen by Hermione. Harry was glad to see they had Lady Grey on the drink menu. He wanted the Earl Grey because he still couldn’t think of anything else but Snape and he needed the lavender because these thoughts made him rather upset.

Taking small bites from her Caprese Baguette, Hermione thought over what she heard while the two young men watched attentively, waiting for the solution.

“I don’t know, Harry,” she said in the end, placing the baguette back onto the plate. “It seems to me that everything went well until Aahil came home. He could be just jealous.”

Harry snorted. “Of Aahil? He’s in love with Flannigan. And I could never… he’s just so young and… That’s ridiculous.”

“Think about it,” Argued the girl. “If you had been at Snape’s place and Flannigan came home, how would you feel?”

Harry thought for a couple of seconds then said easily, “I would be fine. Flannigan would be sporting a few broken bones, but I would be fine.”

Ron laughed, then sipped his lemonade, before he finally joined the conversation. “Harry, how long has it been?” He asked quietly.

“Don’t,” said Harry his tone wary. “I know I should let it go. It’s been more than a year and he’s not interested, and doesn’t want to see me. You’ve told me already.”

“No, mate, that’s not it.” Ron said leaning ahead. “Well, it is but… for a year, you tried, and tried and tried and nothing happened. He literally ignored you. Then this little blue box comes in the picture and… well, he’s suddenly available.”

“You think he’s only interested in the box?” Hermione asked.

Harry felt crestfallen. “I don’t want to believe that.”

“No, no, listen,” Ron shook his head and took another sip. “I think this is a chance for Harry to show Snape how much he changed and everything. Under the cover of talking about the blue box, he can invite the bloke to places, and Snape will go because he thinks it’s about the box. So this way, he can't ignore Harry any longer. But, if he truly is only interested in the box and does all this because he wants its secret from Harry, then… well… he’s scum and you, Harry, have to forget him.”

“But what do I do?” Harry asked desperate.

“What you have been doing in the past couple of days. Invite him to places, do stuff with him that he might find interesting. Tell him bits and pieces about the box. Nothing that would help him open it, just keep him interested in it, so he will keep coming back for you.” Hermione suggested. “Let him get to know you and, make sure you get to know him, too. He might not be the person you expected. In the end, you’ll see. If he knows the box’s secret but still comes back, you got yourself a boyfriend. But Ron is right. We watched you chase him for long enough. If he ignores you again, once this is over, you’ll forget him, Harry. Promise us. You’ll move on.”

“Wait… isn’t this… this is technically dating, isn’t it?”

“Yes, just don’t word it like that to him, because he will freak out.” Ron grinned.

*****HPSS*****

“Don’t freak out, Flannigan!” Severus said watching the man roam circles in front of his desk.

“You don’t understand. He will behead me!” Edward groaned. “And before you say I should stop over-exaggerating things, I mean it. The punishment for stealing from a Prince in India is _beheading_.”

“Why do you not just run?” Severus asked.

“Run? And leave the box with you?” Edward huffed. “The Prince will find it – out of the question. But I need to find out what is inside, I just need to know, and you’re the only one who can open it for me.” He sighed and slumped into a chair. “So, dear Severus, in one way we might say, my life is in your capable hands.”

“I rather cut them off, _dear_ Edward.”

“Now, my friend, is that the way to speak to me?”

“We’re not friends, Flannigan, ever since you showed up in my life, it has turned hellish, thank you. I rather you just left, with the box or without I care not.”

“Do you have any at all?” Flannigan asked wondering. “Friends, I mean.”

Severus looked the man dead in the eyes, his stare cold. “As much as I need. And before you offer, a thief is not someone I look forward to call a friend.”

“Shame,” said Edward with a bright grin. “I was looking for a friend like you.”

“Look elsewhere,” said Severus pointing at the door. “I have some more work to do with your little blue box.”

“How mean,” sighed Edward but smiled as he stood. “Send a message when you are ready with it.”

With that he was at the door. He looked back, his hand on the handle already. “What about the Auror? Potter, I mean.”

“What about him?” Severus asked back, memories of last night flashing back to him. He had to gulp.

“Don’t play dense, Severus. I told you, fuck him if you need to, but get him off this case. It’s my life now at stake.”

With that he was out of Severus office.

“He’s the key to opening your box!” Severus shouted after him than added quieter, “Fuck him… as if that would be so simple.”

Burying that idea deep inside his consciousness, he pulled a parchment from the top drawer and started writing. He got as far as “Mr. Potter,” then realized he was already stuck. What should he write? Where should he invite Potter so that they could spend some time together? He needed to make Potter lower his defences so he can inquire about the little blue box. Where would the young man be at ease?

Potter liked books, just like Severus, didn’t he? Severus felt relaxed when he was around his books, so perhaps, they should be at Potter’s home. But how would Severus force an invitation out from Potter? He couldn’t just show up there, could he? And besides, that would be dangerous territory. Whatever made that delicious scent last night could still be there, and that would make fatal consequences regarding Severus’ plans.

Therefore, it had to be somewhere else. Somewhere filled with books. Not Severus' place surely, there had to be another one. Somewhere where they could be left undisturbed, surrounded by the smell of old books – where Potter could be at ease…

He tapped his pen against the empty parchment. The rapid knocking sounded as impatient as his mind was right now. Where?

The idea came as a revelation. It was so simple, he wanted to slap himself. He resisted the idea and instead set off writing that letter. The ink has barely dried and he was on his feet already, eager to deliver it personally.

*****HPSS*****

 “Personally, I think you’re wrong,” grinned Harry.

Ron stuck up a finger at him, then hid it right away when he saw the person at the door. “What are you doing here again?”

“Good day to you as well, Auror Weasley,” Snape welcomed him with a raised eyebrow.

“Don’t be a git,” whispered Harry to Ron, then pointed over his shoulder. “Don’t you have some business in our office?” He asked.

Ron shrugged. “Snape,” he nodded towards the man, then headed down the corridor.

“Hello,” said Harry to Snape awkwardly. He realized this was the first time they were alone since that accident in the bathroom. “What brings you here?”

Snape said nothing for minutes just studied Harry avidly. They stood in the deserted corridor of the Auror Headquarters. It was lunch time and most of Harry’s colleagues were out to eat something. Harry and Ron had just finished as well.

“I came to deliver this,” said Snape suddenly as if only now hearing Harry’s question from minutes ago.

“What is it?” Asked Harry curiously as he took the rolled-up parchment.

“Telling it would defeat the purpose of writing it in the first place, wouldn’t it, Mr. Potter.”

“You could have just sent an owl,” Harry remarked looking into the black eyes. Images from the other night inadvertently played in his head. He wondered if the same happened to Snape as well when they looked at each other.

“I could have yes,” answered Snape slowly. “But that, once again, would have defeated the purpose of my actions.” He said with a smooth voice. “Read it, I’ll await your answer in the next hour or so.”

Snape turned to leave. The elevator behind him opened and a noisy group of Aurors done with their lunch break filled the end of the corridor.

“What was it?” Harry shouted after him. “Your purpose then?”

Snape stopped for a moment and looked over his shoulder. Harry was once again reminded of the other night - the hungry look in Snape’s eyes was almost burning. “Read the letter, Potter.” The man answered then.

Harry’s belly lurched as he watched the small crowd swallow the dark man. His colleagues clapped him on the shoulder and talked to him, asked him questions perhaps but he didn’t hear or feel anything. He left himself drift with the flow of people until he was left at his office.

“What happened?” Ron asked but Harry didn’t answer him. Instead he rushed behind his desk and opened the seal on the parchment.

“Did he give you that? What’s in it?”

Harry went over the short letter once then a second time as well.

“Oi, read it, this isn’t fair!” Ron urged him impatiently. “What does it say? What does he want?”

Finally, Harry seemed to have found his voice. “He’s asking me out.” He grinned.

“No way!” Ron cried. “Read it, Harry!”

“Dear Mister Potter,” Harry read aloud, still grinning wildly. “I feel I must apologize for my actions the other day. I am quite frankly shocked at my behaviour and I offer no excuse. I, however, wish to earn your forgiveness by inviting you to a special place this evening. Please convey your interest or lack of it before three o’clock today so that I may prepare the necessary arrangements for our meeting. Yours, S. Snape.”

“Mate…” Ron whispered in awe. “He _is_ asking you out.”

“What do I say?” Harry asked.

“Well yes of course!” Cried Ron.

“I mean, I can't just say, yeah, please take me anywhere. What do I write back?”

An evil grin crossed Ron’s face. “Nothing. Don’t write back yet. Go to him five minutes before three. Let him sweat a bit.”

“He’ll be livid.”

“So were you when he left you the other night.”

“True,” said Harry with a shrug.

Ten minutes before three o’clock that afternoon couldn’t have come any slower, but once it did, Harry stood from his desk and walked outside. Ron wished him good luck, which he knew he needed. He walked to the apparition point in the Atrium and closed his eyes imagining the door to Snape’s office. Then he turned on his heels.

The next moment, bright sunlight penetrated his closed eyelids and once he opened them he found himself facing the glass door. He walked closer and rapped on the glass three times quietly. The door opened right away.

“That took you long enough,” snapped Snape on the other side of the threshold.

“Sorry, I was held up at work,” lied Harry.

They stared at each other. Snape was indeed angry. His brows were furrowed and the vein on his temple was protruding slightly. It filled Harry with satisfaction that Snape was so anxious about his reply. “I came to deliver my answer.”

“You could have sent an owl.” Groused Snape. “So what will it be?”

“I’ll go with you.”

“Good,” said Snape irritated. “See you at seven tonight.”

That was clearly a dismissal yet neither of them moved. Then Harry stepped a bit closer. “Why didn’t you send an owl?”

Snape stared at him. Silently, he just stood there watching Harry, his expression still angry. A clock behind him chimed three and that made Snape turn around. “Just because,” he said curtly once he looked at Harry again. “I’ll have to make arrangements.”

Then the door closed in Harry’s face.

The rest of the day Harry had been anxiously looking at the clock and wondering if this indeed was a good idea. As seven o’clock drew nearer and nearer, more and more doubts came to his mind. Snape didn’t seem at all like someone who actually wanted to spend time with him. Perhaps, this was truly only about the little blue box. That idea made Harry angry. How could Snape toy with him like that? On the other hand, however, Aahil’s words echoed in his mind as well. He had Snape attention now, but what should he do with it?

In the end, Harry decided that no matter how hard he tried, Snape was pretty much unpredictable, and therefore, planning was in vain. That being said, he waved goodbye to Ron and headed home, hoping that Snape would pick him up there. He showered and dressed up smart, but comfortable. He didn’t dare eat in case they were having dinner.

At seven sharp, someone knocked.

He opened the door and eyes took in with increasing pleasure the man standing there. Snape looked good in dark grey pants, and a midnight blue sweater. He looked over Harry’s outfit and only said, “It might be colder where we’re headed. You might want to wear something over that shirt.”

“Oh,” said Harry, then nodded. “Sure, I’ll get a sweater, too.”

He went to the bedroom and rummaged through his drawers for a green pullover. He pulled it over his head then turned to join Snape again, but to his surprise the man was standing in the doorway to his bedroom.

“Is this the special place you want to take me?” Harry asked with a grin.

“What’s this scent?”

“What scent?”

“It drives me mad.” Snape said, stepping into the bedroom. “It’s all over your apartment, it’s all over you. It’s everywhere.”

“What scent?” Harry repeated. “Do I smell, or what?” He asked with concern.

Snape closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He was coming closer and closer to Harry. “No. It’s like…” another deep breath, “English Breakfast.”

Harry laughed. “Oh, that.”

He went to the bathroom and came back carrying a bar of soap. “I got this from Hermione. It’s her new hobby. She’s making soap. This one is English Breakfast. I ran out of Earl Grey a couple weeks ago, so I’ve been using this since. I have a lavender one too, for stressful days,” he added quietly noticing Snape’s behaviour.

Snape was weird. He was staring at the soap, taking shallow breathes as if now that he knew the source of it, he didn’t want to smell it at all. Then suddenly, he lifted it – and Harry’s hand with it – to his nose and took one, long, deep breath.

“Yes.” He sighed. “This is it.” Snape looked up, watching Harry from behind long, black eyelashes. His dark eyes glinted dangerously in the semi-dark room. “Use the lavender one if you don’t want our little incident to repeat.” Snape turned around and left Harry in the bedroom.

Not understanding anything, but making a mental note to ask Hermione if she had more English Breakfast smelling soaps, Harry returned the soap to its place then went back out to the living room, where Snape waited for him.

“Shall we?” Snape said, holding out a hand.

Harry’s eyes went round. Snape wanted to hold hands?

Eagerly, he took Snape’s hand in his and let himself be escorted out. The door closed behind them and the next moment, they vanished with a loud crack.

*****HPSS*****

Reluctantly, Harry let go of Snape’s hand, realizing it was only for the sake of apparating and not for anything else. To his surprise however, Snape placed his palm instead on the young man’s waist, gently trying to nudge him away from the edge of the cliff and towards the lighthouse behind them.

However, Harry could not move. He was rooted to the ground, staring wide eyed at the last seconds of the sunset. The dark sea that seemed only a couple feet away turned gold for a few minutes. The sun fought against the dark clouds, its rays turning water beneath into sparkling diamonds. A soft smile flickered over Harry’s lips, and he closed his eyes and let himself bask in the last lights of the day.

The warm rays were like a gentle caress, but the wind on the top of the cliff was ruthless. It tore into their clothes and hair. Harry felt its coldness on his skin as if he would be standing bare. He instinctively moved closer to Snape, pressing more firmly against the hand that was still resting on the small of his back.

“Come on,” said Snape once the sun set and the world seemed to have lost all its colours. Even the wind felt colder now that the sun wasn’t warming them. Leaving the wildly waving sea behind, they turn and walked towards the lighthouse.

“Where are we?” Asked Harry quietly when they reached the base of the daunting tower.

“Scotland,” answered Snape briefly. “A friend of mine lives here.”

Inviting light shone in the little cottage attached to the lighthouse. Its stone walls made it look stern and rigid. Impenetrable and lonely, it stood at the base of the lighthouse at the end of the cliff.

When they reached the door, Snape knocked. Once the door opened, Harry made a small gasp. A little figure welcomed them.

His cloaked body was intimidating, though he barely reached up to Harry’s waist. With his face hidden from the visitors beneath a black hood, his only defining feature was his long grey beard and his dark robe which seemed to be made of potato sack.

“Evening, customers.” Said the strange figure. His voice was faint and raspy like old parchment and so was the skin on his hand, which was only visible because he had to reach up so high for the doorknob.

“Bourges,” said Snape.

“Ah, Snape.”

Bourges moved aside once he recognized Snape and let them both in.

“You know how things are. I shall be upstairs.” Bourges rasped then vanished for view as he walked up on a staircase that must have been leading to the lighthouse. Only now did Harry notice that beneath the dark, heavy robe Bourges was wearing fluffy bunny-slippers. The edge of striped pyjama bottoms peaked out too as he moved up on the steps.

“Snape…” Potter whispered. “What is this place?”

“Believe it or not,” he said leading Potter further into the cottage until they moved past another doorway and entered into a big room illuminated by hundreds of candles, “it is a bookstore.”

Harry made a sound somewhere between a surprised gasp and a lustful moan once his eyes were set on the many tomes of antique books right in from of them.

The place looked nothing like a bookstore, and more like someone’s secret stash of illegal books. Every horizontal surface was covered with hundreds and hundreds of tomes, colourful paperbacks, black, burgundy red, and gold leather bounds and so many more, each different. The shelves made the room look like a maze – Harry did not know how vast or small it was in fact. Ladders and a couple comfortable looking puffs and armchairs were scattered around the room but even those gave seat to not people but books.

Like little glowing stars, candles floated over their heads, all in a safe magical bubble that would not allow any of the books to accidentally catch on fire. But because of this dome, their light cast a dim glow, barely enough to read if you were close to them, but not nearly sufficient to make out the titles of the books on the lowest shelves.

The smell of old books, of paper and wood, of candlewax and dust made the room feel magical.

Smiling to himself, Harry moved further inside the room torn between wanting to look and touch each and every volume he could see, but not knowing where to even start.

“The Lighthouse is an antique bookstore that has been here for probably centuries.” Snape explained, somewhere behind him as Harry carefully touched and caressed titles after titles. “Bourges, his father before him and probably his father before them were all keepers of the lighthouse. With nothing much to do, they collected and read stories in their spare time. As you can see, quiet the collection has accumulated over the years. The town people know this place as a library, and Bourges still lends out books for people he trusts, but most who come here has to buy a book if they want to take it out.”

“You’re an exception, I take it,” Harry grinned over his shoulder, holding in his hand a rare volume by _Giambattista Basile_.

“Well, yes. And so are you, at least tonight. Pick one, _any one_ and you can take it home with you.”

Harry span around and stared at Snape. “You’re joking, right? Many of these worth more than all the money in my Gringotts account! Probably even more than both of our accounts together!”

“You are not the only one with influential friends, Potter,” said Snape. He walked closer to Harry and took the book gently from his hand. He closed _The Pentamerone_ and put it back to its place. “The true rarities will be that way,” he said quietly, nodding towards a darker section of the room. Then he took Harry’s hand in his and pulled him that way.

Though Poe, Hemmingway, Fleming and many others all begged for his attention, Harry could not focus fully on the them. Half of him, though clearly amazed at the selection of rarities, was only aware of Snape hovering around him, watching every move he made. He knew the black eyes followed his hand as he took another volume of Shakespeare’s dramas, fingertips tracing the faded silver title.

Harry browsed through rows and rows of old, dusty books. The content of the little cottage and especially the shelf in front of which they stood was worth more than half the gold in Gringotts yet, Snape’s eyes were not on the old tomes, Gatsby could hold his attention only as long as Harry held it in his hands.

Whenever Harry caught him staring Snape would immediately pull a random book from the shelf and bury himself nose-deep into them, yet minutes later, the carefully crafted sentences were lost on him and he was behind Harry again, eagerly watching his reaction.

 “Ah, there are just too many…” groaned Harry suddenly, looking helplessly at Snape.

“Come, let’s have tea.” Snape suggested. “Maybe that will help.”

Harry giggled as he said, “Yeah, I’d love to have some tea with you… Especially in a book store.” Thankfully though, Snape was oblivious to the innuendo.

They ducked under arches, and slipped through narrow halls erected with only books, until they finally found a table. As if Bourges had known just what they needed, a set of tea cups were placed onto the small wooden table, with a variety of leaves in small tin boxes.

“I don’t even have to ask, which one you want,” smiled Harry, lifting the one that said English Breakfast.

Harry turned his back to Snape and started preparing the tea. The water in the old kettle was about to boil thanks to a quick charm and he was about to take a spoonful of tealeaves but Snape was suddenly behind him and he stopped Harry with placing a hand over his.

“I don’t recommend it,” Snape said in a dark tone. “I might not be able to behave… appropriately.”

“But you like English Breakfast,” was all Harry said and he sounded suddenly breathless as he was forced to remember last night. The scent of English Breakfast, Snape’s proximity – it was just all too much.

Hand still on Harry’s, Snape only said quietly, “Still, you should go with some other flavour if you don’t want trouble.”

“Don’t you know me,” answered Harry, gulping down his anxiety. His voice was not shaky anymore, it was confident, as he turned around facing Snape. “I live for trouble.”

Just like on the leather covers, his fingers moved on Snape’s skin tenderly. Tentative caress of fingertips, soft like the touch of a feather, yet he knew Snape felt it vividly. His eyes seemed darker than night, his expression predatory.

Harry’s inquiring fingers that stroked Snape’s wrist, slithered beneath his sleeve which somehow seemed more inappropriate by the determined look Snape was giving him.

Harry moved closer. It was only inches, yet it felt like he ran miles – his heart hammered in his chest, he was all but panting. Such an innocent touch, just his fingers on a hand, skin on skin, yet he felt as if he would be caressing Snape at completely different places. They both shuddered wildly.

The kettle whistled sharply. It was like a scream in the silence and they flew apart, as if nothing had just happened.

The tea was ready – Ceylon Sonata not English Breakfast in the end for which Harry was secretly very grateful – He wasn’t sure he could handle a moment like that again and not go mad with need. Then minutes later, it was all gone and Harry had still not decided which tale to take home with him.

“Isn’t there one you always wanted? Or one that you once started, but never finished?” Snape asked once they returned to browsing the bookshelves.

“The only story I currently want to know the end of is that one about the Prince, the fox and the little blue box.”

“The ending of that story depends on you, Potter.” Said Snape. “If you give Edward over to the Prince, he will be beheaded.”

“I can't just let him escape, can I?” Answered Harry.

“Why couldn’t you? If the Prince gets back his little blue box, and Edward gets to disappear quietly, everyone will be happy.”

“You seem rather concerned about this American.” Harry noted bitterly.

Snape huffed. “He grows on you. He’s an idiot, but he’s not actually a bad person.”

“Do you know the story? Of the merchant, the princess and the little blue box?”

“The box has a story?” Snape asked back. “Edward never told me. I assumed he just stole the box and that’s all.”

“Not even close,” Harry said, leaning against a ladder. “The story of the little blue box actually started many, many years ago.”

“ _So Scheherazade began.*_ ” Remarked Snape with a smirk.

“Very funny,” mocked Harry, but he continued and told Snape the story he had heard from Aahil. He spoke of the sad princess and the merchant, and their adventures. He told him that the box is worthless. He told Snape about the ring in the box, but did not tell him how in the end Aahil’s mother opened it. The he told him how Aahil and Edward met first when Aahil was only fifteen, but then, he said no more.

“So that’s why, Edward stole it. Because he thought it was worth a lot.”

“Maybe,” shrugged Harry. “Maybe he heard the story, and knew the box was worth nothing but even so, because it is so hard to open, it is a perfect place to keep something extremely valuable in there.” He said, then he added quietly, “Or perhaps, the reason was something entirely different.”

“You know what’s in it,” stated Snape.

“I don’t. All I know, that the little blue box is something important for Aahil and he would like it back.”

“I have a feeling you don’t tell me everything,” Snape remarked, his gaze intense.

“Of course, I don’t,” Harry admitted, with a grin. “Scheherazade’s story would have been rather short if she finished her tale in the first night.”

“I think,” said Snape and he moved closer and suddenly Harry regretted leaning against the old ladder. There was no place to back off. “We’ve just found your book, Potter.”

“What do you mean?” Breathed Harry almost soundlessly. Not that he needed to be any more louder as Snape was so close to him once again, a whisper would have been enough. Snape leant even closer, placing a hand next to Harry’s head on the dusty wooden step of the ladder.

Harry grabbed both sides of the ladder to keep himself from doing anything stupid. He was aware of some movement, felt fingertips brush his hair above his ear, but he couldn’t stop staring at Snape’s thin lips as they slowly pulled into a smug smile.

Then suddenly, he felt something hard collide against his chest. He looked down, confused and grabbed the heavy book just as Snape let it go.

“ _Thousand and One Nights_?” He asked befuddled.

“Suits you, doesn’t it?” Smirked Snape. “We should leave now. Bourges doesn’t usually let anyone in here after hours.”

*****HPSS*****

They were at Potter’s apartment again, standing at the door, both hesitant. Severus knew exactly what he wanted, but was certain he would only earn a hex for that.

“Thanks for tonight,” Potter said then quietly, and lifted the book in his left hand. “And thanks for this too. I promise to take good care of it.”

“Let me know when you’re done with it and I might be able to persuade Bourges to lend you the rest.”

“Great,” Potter smiled. “See you then, Snape.”

He was about to walk through the open door, but Severus couldn’t help himself. “Potter,” he cried, which made the other wizard stop and turn back. “When?” He asked, then gulped heavily. “When can I hear the rest of my story?”

“Tomorrow night?” Asked Potter the smile on his lips was teasing.

“Tomorrow night then,” nodded Severus. He turned and walked away, but he found it strange that he did not hear the door close. He looked back and was surprised to see Potter standing in the middle of the hallway, watching him.

“What?” He asked, frowning.

“Why didn’t you send an owl, Snape?” Potter asked and for his life Severus didn’t know what he talked about until Potter added: “This afternoon, with your letter. You said it would defeat the purpose of you coming to the Ministry. What was your purpose? Why didn’t you just send an owl?”

Severus huffed – it was almost a chuckle, which he would deny to anyone. “Isn’t it obvious?” He asked as he walked back to Potter. “If I send an owl,” he said quietly, then leant to Potter’s ear and whispered, “I don’t get to see you.”

Potter inhaled sharply, and satisfied, Severus was about to pull back, but then Potter did the unexpected. He grabbed Severus by the neck and didn’t let him move away as he spoke.

“Do you want a clue with the little blue box?” Potter asked in a strained voice. He stepped back, pulling Severus with him. After the first step, Severus did not need more guidance. He pushed Potter, hands on his waist, against the nearest wall.

“Yes,” he nearly moaned.

“Here’s your clue Snape, listen carefully,” Potter grunted, forehead against Severus’, hot breath ghosting on his lips until it was soft skin there and Potter was kissing him gently. It was only a small peck on his lips, then Potter tried to move away, but Severus captured those sinful lips once again. He could feel Potter’s smile and he finally pulled back.

“Did you listen?” Asked Potter. He was glad to see the green gaze dart down from his eyes to his lips for a moment.

“My attention was elsewhere,” confessed Severus in a low tone. “Could you repeat it?”

Potter watched him for a long second, assessing green eyes staring at him. Then, he only said, “Why don’t you come in, and I tell you all of it from the beginning.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *“So Scheherazade began.” – from Thousand and One Nights, written by Anonymus


	6. Step Six: Pour it into Cups

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let's see what's inside the box, shall we

It felt real. Every soft, teasing kiss Potter placed on his lips to seduce him, surely so that he would finally have his revenge felt real and honest, however Severus knew better and he would not be tricked anymore.

_‘_ _It is all just a game to him,_ _’_ Severus repeated to himself as he pulled away from Potter, watching the young man as he slowly opened his green eyes, hazy with desire.

Insane – the idea itself that this would be real and yet as Potter clung to him, as he inch by inch pulled Severus further inside his flat and did not let go, Severus wanted to believe all this. Deep down, beneath all this pretence and his need for reckoning, he realized, he would want this more than to find out the little mystery of the blue box. The fact that he actually enjoyed his time with Potter, all these meetings, could not be buried anymore. As they kissed he knew it for sure and was not able to hide it anymore. He wanted this scheme to be true. 

And for that, it hurt even more.

He stepped away and looked into those green eyes as he said, “See you tomorrow night, Scheherazade.”

“Snape, wait!” Potter cried but Severus had already turned on his heels, home in mind.

*****HPSS*****

He went to bed right away, but gave up on sleeping in the middle of the night after hours of tossing and turning, stuck halfway between sleeping and being awake when all the dreams were either memories of what actually happened, or continuations of these scenes, taking the stories to events that would never happen between himself and Potter.

Dawn was still far away when he apparated from home and turned up in front of the building of his office. The street was dark and almost empty. There was only a homeless person lying on a bench right across the street. The stranger jumped at the sound of the apparition and Severus drew himself deeper into the shadows near the wall to hide.

But the homeless man had already noticed him. He sat up and jumped off the bench, heading with quick steps towards Severus. He passed under a streetlamp and then finally Severus realized who it was.

“Flannigan! What on Merlin’s beard are you doing here this late?”

“I was waiting for you!” Hissed Edward desperately. “They found me, Severus!”

“Who found you, Flannigan?”

“The Prince’s men! They were all around the hotel where I had stayed. I didn’t know where to go, Severus.”

“So you decided to camp in front of my office?” Asked Severus as he let them inside. He called the elevator and they got in. He pressed the button to his floor then looked at Edward. The man seemed haunted, which was understandable. He was a dead man walking if the Prince’s men were to find him.

“You’re my only friend in London,” Edward said. “I couldn’t go anywhere else.”

“Why don’t you just flee, Edward?” Asked Severus as they got out of the elevator. “Just take the box and go back to America. I’m sure there are many Curse breakers there who could aid you.”

“I see you’re no longer against me calling you a friend.”

“Would there be a point?” Noted Severus, opening the door to his office.

“No,” said Edward easily. “There’s no point denying that we’re a lot alike.”

“We’re nothing alike,” stated Severus.

Edward sat down into Severus’ chair and put his leg on the desk. Severus glared at him, but it seemed ineffective. “Sure we are,” Flannigan said with a grin. Then his tone turned serious suddenly. “So, tell me, my friend, how long have you been infatuated with Potter?”

“I’m not infatuated with him!” Flared Severus.

“Are you not?” Mused Edward. “Is not _he_ then who left you in this haunted, restless state?”

“You don’t know what you are talking about.”

“Don’t I?” Edward sounded wistful. “At first, it’s nothing - you barely notice him. He’s too young, so… _incomplete_ … It’s almost fun to look at him, and think, was I like this too? Was I ever this optimistic, this…” He sighed as his eyes closed, “bright, open and just _kind_? You know you were never like this, and maybe that is what draws you in, in the end. But something does, and then one day, he looks at you and you notice it is different than the hundred other times he looked at you before. And from then on, you seem to notice everything. It’s the small things at first. His scent. The colour of his eyes. His habits or his favourite tea. You’re just observant, that’s all and you think nothing of it. Then you see him with others and suddenly you notice you want to break every finger that touches him, gag every mouth that makes him laugh, cover every pair of eyes that watch him, because it’s only you that should see him laugh, cry, muse, bask in the sunlight, take a bath, write a letter – and still you deny and tell yourself, you are simply protective. He is so naïve, he needs protection from this world. But what you are is a _monster_ and all he needs protection from is _you_.”

Edward’s eyes opened suddenly and he stared hard in front of himself. He was holding the little blue box, however, Severus did not notice when he produced it.

“Next, you notice his touch. Every brush against your skin, fingers touching when he passes you a glass of wine, a book, as he walks past you, when he playfully slaps your arm away when you subconsciously reach out to touch him. You fight it with every fibre in your body, but all it takes is just one little slip. And that slip will happen, whether you want it or not, it always does. Sometimes, it is just one glass too many of that sweet wine that reminds you of his scent, or perhaps just a gesture, a smile, and suddenly it’s all clear for you, there’s no denying it: it’s him you want. Once you came here with a mission. To steel a necklace, or to open a little blue box, it does not matter, but he made you forget it. He steered you off a path that you walked a thousand miles on already, a path you knew well, a path you could never get lost on, and pulled you to a road complicated like a maze.” Edward looked up at him and smiled knowingly. “Does that sound familiar, Severus?”

Severus didn’t need to nod, and Edward went on. “Then, once you realize you are lost, you do the only thing you can: you run. You know you will hurt him, it hurts you too as well, but there is nothing else you can do. You run and you never look back. But he doesn’t let you, does he? He does not let you hide, he knows how to drive you forth and you simply can't say no to him. And as you meet him again, you realize, he’s not that young anymore, he is not so naïve after all, he is not inexperienced anymore, yet something is still missing, he is still incomplete and you realize, so are you. That’s when you first kiss. The first night you spend with him, you realize whatever you have been searching for all your life, all the things you have taken from others, all the treasures you had seen, it is nothing compared to him, he is the one that can give you what you want… But. You cannot give him what he needs, what he deserves. You are just a thief. And he is the Prince of India.”

He sighed deeply and stood, walking to Severus. He placed a hand on Severus’ shoulder and said quietly. “It is all so familiar, isn’t it? Even if yours is not a prince.”

*****HPSS*****

 “You kissed?”

“We kissed.”

“You kissed Snape?”

“I kissed Snape. And he kissed me. We kissed.”

“Can't be. You and Snape. Kissed?”

“Yes. We kissed.”

“Mate, no matter how many times you say it, it won't be easier to believe it. Then what happened?”

“He left.”

“He left?”

“Ron, stop repeating what he’s saying! You’re driving me mad!”

Hermione was sitting at the edge of her chair, fingers grasping the table in order to refrain from jumping Harry, she was so excited. Ron was simply befuddled. Harry understood his friends’ reaction, they made sense. What Harry didn’t understand was Snape, but that was nothing new.

“Why did he leave, Harry?” Asked Hermione.

“Wish I knew!” cried Harry, throwing his hands in the air. “I asked him to come inside, then he left. But we’re meeting tonight.”

“You’re meeting tonight?”

“Ron, if you don’t stop, I will-”

“Alright, calm down, woman! But this is huge!” Ron clapped Harry on the shoulder, grinning widely.

“What are you doing tonight?” Hermione asked.

“Having a cup of tea, they are!” Laughed Ron. “What do you think?”

“I’m serious, Ron!” Hermione snapped.

“So am I,” Grinned Ron. “Look at him, he’s agitated.”

He pointed at Harry, who just nodded. “I would have had tea with him last night if he stayed.”

“Blimey, Harry…” Ron whispered. “I don’t want to think about that.”

Harry just shook his head and sighed. “But why the hell didn’t he stay?”

“He’s barmy, that’s why.” Ron said, then his eyes widening, he slapped Harry on the arm and whispered as if telling a big secret, “Maybe he’s… you know… Maybe he never… you know… never had tea with anyone before.”

“Ron!” Cried Hermione. “I’m sure Professor Snape had… his fair share of cup of teas with others. We still can't rule out that this is all in order to get to the little blue box.” Seeing that the outraged expression on Harry’s face, she went on, “I know I’m playing the devil’s advocate here, and believe me Harry, I’ll be the happiest if it turns out I’m wrong. But I don’t want you to get hurt.”

“You’re wrong, Hermione.” Stated Harry. “He’s not just after the little blue box. I know. I can feel that this is about more.”

“And I’m sure you are right,” nodded Hermione. “Which is why, you will give him the one thing we are certain he wants.”

“I don’t think you need to tell him that,” Sniggered Ron. “He’d be out of his shorts by now, if it was only up to him!”

“Ron, you idiot! I’m not talking about… _tea_.”

“Then what are you talking about?”

“The little blue box of course.” Hermione nodded solemnly. “It’s time, that stupid box gets back to its owner. When this whole ordeal with that box is done, we will know. If he comes back to Harry, even after the box is open… well… they can have as much tea as they like. If not… we’ll deal with that later.”

*****HPSS*****

The heat was almost unbearable even if it was still before noon. Cooling charms kept the office at a normal temperature, but the sun glaring at him through the huge windows didn’t help. His skin prickled beneath his shirt. He summoned a tray with some English Breakfast. He offered a cup to Flannigan.

“Don’t be ridiculous, Severus, it’s a hundred degrees out there.” Said Flannigan, glaring disdainfully at the steaming liquid in the pure white cup. “Anyway, I need some chai. Preferably iced.”

“Well, don’t let me keep you, Edward.” Severus said leaning back in his chair. He tossed the little blue box from one hand to the other. Once he got over the initial shock of kissing Harry Potter, Severus realized he had been given a clue. What exactly that clue was, he didn’t know yet, but he had a couple ideas to test out.

He watched as Flannigan took out his wand and waved it, producing a long glass with ice in it, a box of tea leaves – no doubt chai – and started preparing his drink meticulously. After five minutes, he sipped into his iced chai and pursed his lips in satisfaction. “Perfect,” he noted. Then, he motioned at Severus’ hands, were the little blue box still flew from one palm to the other every second or so. “Did you figure it out?” Flannigan asked.

“Maybe,” implied Severus.

“Well then,” Flannigan said, pulling closer with the chair. “Let me see what wonders you are capable of, Severus Snape.”

At that moment, just as Flannigan said the last word, someone knocked on the door, but instead of waiting, they pressed down the handle and let themselves in right away. There was no doubt in Severus’ mind to whom the first shadow through the milk-glass belong to, the second one however was a mystery until they were through the threshold.

Once the visitors were through the door and Flannigan took in who they were, he jumped from his chair, his iced chai splattering over Severus' desk. He all but flew across the office and cowered flat against the furthest window from the door.

“Potter,” Severus said coolly, though he was eyeing the young Indian boy, who was looking curiously around his office.

But before the visitors could say anything, Edward whispered, “Aahil…”

The Indian boy looked at the corner. “Ed…?”

“Who is this, Potter?” Severus asked.

“Severus Snape, let me introduce you Aahil Surabhi, Prince of India.” Potter said simply.

“Excuse me?” Cried Severus, then stared at the still cowering Edward. “Are you telling me, that _bimbo_ is the prince you’ve been so afraid of?”

“ _Bimbo_?” giggled the Prince. “Anyway, why would you be afraid of me, Ed?”

“You want my head!” Edward cried.

“I want my box.” Aahil corrected, pointing at Severus.

“And I guess, you Potter, you want your thief.”

“That depends,” said Potter slowly. “I’m here as Aahil’s friend. Right now, I just want a cup of tea. If we can settle this peacefully, that will be all. I’ll leave, and you’ll never see me again.”

“What’s the other option?” Asked Severus.

“The other option makes me pull out my badge. Once my badge is on the table, I’m here as an Auror, Snape. And then, someone will be arrested.”

“We just came for what is mine. I want nothing else,” said Surabhi. “Or perhaps some tea, if you have it. Iced, with a bit of-“

“Sugar, yes.” Finished Edward as if instinctively, the glass of sweet tea already in his hand. He handed it to the Prince. “You look well, Aahil.” He said carefully.

“And you look tired, Ed.” Noted the child taking the tea. “Stressful isn’t it, being a thief.”

Edward grinned. “Nothing a cup of tea wouldn’t take care of.”

The bimbo blushed profoundly, and hid his face behind the glass as he took a cooling slip of the tea.

“So, you don’t want my head then?” Edward asked from Aahil. “Is that why your soldiers raided my hotel room?”

“My property is all I want from you, Edward.” Stated Surabhi coldly.

“I would need some proof of that,” said Severus. “I’m afraid, I can't just hand this little blue box over to anyone, who claims ownership of it. Surely a fine Auror like you Potter agrees.”

“I can prove it’s mine,” said Aahil with a smile.

“How?” Severus asked.

“I can open it.”

Severus smiled slyly. “So can I.”

“You can?” Laughed the Indian. “Let’s see it then.”

Potter nudged Aahil in the side, looking suddenly sheepish. But Surabhi shook his head. “It’s all right, Harry. I have been away from home long enough. This ordeal will stop today.”

Edward came closer and leant onto Severus’ chair as well. “You do know how to open it, Severus?”

Severus just nodded watching Potter avidly. He lifted the little blue box to his lips, as he said, “Someone gave me a pretty good clue.” He managed to catch the little smile that flickered over Potter’s lips, then his attention, along with everyone else’s went to the little blue box.

A shimmering blue light went over it in a small wave, then it made a quiet click and then the top of it opened a couple inches. All eyes were on the box as Severus lifted up the lid, except Aahil’s. The Prince was watching Edward, with something close to sadness in his gaze. A second later, once the box was open and its content revealed, Severus understood why.

“That’s the ring…” Edward breathed reaching for the box. “The one _I_ gave you...” He looked at Aahil, staring in disbelief at him, waiting for an explanation.

“Why do you think, I wanted it back so badly?” Smiled the Prince. “Worthless in money, I know, but to me it means more than all the treasures in India.”

Flannigan took the box from Severus and emptied its content onto his palm. It was indeed a ring, with a huge yellow stone on the front of it. Around it several smaller ones glimmered in the bright morning light.

“Well,” said Edward slowly. He scratched the back of his neck, and stepped over the desk so he stood in front of Aahil. “It’s not that worthless, actually. You remember the Sultan I robbed, when we first met? That is the yellow diamond from his necklace. There are four other yellow diamonds in the sockets, for every year I could not see you.  That ring could actually buy you a country. Not as big as India, for sure, but a country none the less.” He took Aahil’s hand and dropped the ring onto his open palm.

The silence was deafening for a moment.

“That diamond…” Aahil breathed, “was your most prized possession. You told me so! It was your way out! You said with that, you will never have to steal again!”

“Well, yes…” smiled Edward. “Then I realized I found something that was worth even more.”

“Why did you give it to me, Ed?” Asked Aahil quietly.

Edward knelt on the floor and took the ring that was still on Aahil’s open palm as if the boy would be afraid to close his finger’s around it and take what had been his for months.

“What do you think, my idiot Prince?” Edward laughed, then pulled the ring on Aahil’s ring finger. “You are to marry a princess one day, but that does not mean you will have to forget me forever.”

Aahil looked at Potter as if searching for conformation that what he had heard was true. “My idiot thief,” he laughed then, watching Edward’s confused expression. “We’re not in the thirteenth century anymore. I can marry whoever I want.”

*****HPSS*****

Severus watched as Aahil and Edward walked out the door, leaving him and Potter in the office. They were in silence for only a couple of seconds, then Severus murmured, “Well, that’s ten thousand galleons I will never see again.”

“Why wouldn’t you?” Potter asked. “You opened the box. Flannigan got what he wanted, if not more. If this isn’t a happy end, I don’t know what is.”

“Is this the happy end, _you_ wanted, Potter?”

“I’m just glad I didn’t have to arrest anyone. You’re right, Flannigan doesn’t seem like a bad guy after all.”

“He _is_ a thief.” Noted Severus.

“I don’t see anything stolen.” Potter grinned. “The little blue box with its content is back with Aahil. Which means, I have no more business here. I’m sure at least that must please you.”

“Oh it does, Potter.” Replied Severus. “What would please me more,” he added with something dark glinting in his eyes, “Is my ten thousand golden galleons.”

“Well,” said Potter sounding disappointed. “I’m sure you can get that for yourself.” He stood and walked to the door. His hand was already on the handle, when he turned around and looked at Severus. “It was good doing business with you, Snape. Hope you get whatever you want.”

“Same, Potter,” answered Severus, then added. “And thanks for the help, Scheherazade.” He brushed his lower lips with his finger and Potter ducked out of the door, to hide his blush no doubt.

*****HPSS*****

“Well, thanks for the help, Ron.”

“I’m sorry mate. He’s a real git for playing you like that. But look at the bright side, now you know how you stand with him.”

“Is that supposed to be the _bright_ side?” Huffed Harry, then shook his head. “I’ll be off now, if you don’t mind. I have to report to Robarts early tomorrow morning and I want to get thoroughly wasted until then.”

“I _am_ sorry mate,” said Ron’s face among the flames. He scratched his nose awkwardly, then looked back at Harry through the fire. “I know how much this meant to you.”

“Well, yeah…” Harry grunted. “But it’s over now, isn’t it?”

“He didn’t show his ugly face tonight, did he?” Growled Ron.

“Git,” murmured Harry. “Bye now, see you tomorrow at the office.”

“See you, Harry. And remember if you get bored drinking on your own, we’re always here for you.”

“Cheers, Ron.”

“Cheers, mate.”

As Ron’s face disappeared from the fire, Harry sat back in his kitchen floor. He summoned a bottle of wine to himself and, holding it firmly between his knees, he tapped the top with his wand. As the cork unscrewed itself, Harry summoned a glass and poured himself an ample amount.

Opposed to his promise, Snape did not show up that evening.

Harry took a large sip of the red wine and leant with his back against the kitchen counter. This was all then, wasn’t it? He promised Ron and Hermione that he would stop this infatuation, or whatever it was that he had felt for Snape for years now. He had to stop it. It was clear as the sun that it was not healthy.

Ron seemed to be correct after all, Snape wanted nothing more than just the secret leading to the mystery of the little blue box. All these shenanigans were only so that he would get close enough to Harry, to get the secret out. Harry was toyed with and now it was crystal clear to him.

And yet as he thought back to their lovely evening at the theatre, he recalled Snape’s expression full of awe and wonder as he watched the magic on stage, not a day older at that moment than the rest of the young audience. That was the first night Harry had hoped they could have something – something more than those awkward moments at the beginning.

And that something stuck with them for days. Suddenly, the conversations weren’t awkward but teasing, and they lit a candle in Harry’s heart that shone like a beacon. The evening at the Lighthouse was more than he had ever hoped for. The kiss after that: heavenly.

Snape left him craving for more, certain that as the night came so would the other man. The night came and passed, and Harry sat on his kitchen with legs going numb under him, making promise after promise to his broken heart that he would not make the same mistake again and would not fall in love.

There were several facts that did not help nurturing his shattered feelings.

One of those was the fact that every time he closed his eyes he saw himself just outside his flat, pressed against the wall with Snape tasting his skin. If anything, that was the opposite of helpful. Smelling of English Breakfast was adverse to his healing as well. Moreover, his recent flatmate Aahil was still away, probably spending the night with Edward having some steaming hot tea to himself, while Harry was getting drunker and drunker on the kitchen floor, wallowing in self-pity.

“This needs to stop,” he hiccupped to himself. “Snape’s not worth all this!”

He pushed himself from the floor and dumped the rest of the wine into the sink. Not much came out, but Harry was proud of himself as he tossed the bottle into the bin.

He didn’t need Snape, anymore! He could find a man on every corner to have tea with! Even more so, he could have tea on his own! There was no risk of heartbreak if he had tea with himself, and he knew exactly what he wanted – a thought came that what he wanted was a bitter, bibliophile git but he brushed it away quickly.

He promised himself he would wake up tomorrow and taking Hermione’s advice, go out there – wherever this “ _there_ ” might be. He would forget Snape, and he would find someone real. Someone who was nice and kind, someone who would enjoys books as much as tea.

But for tonight, Harry crawled into to bed and agreed with himself that just this last time he needed that cup of hot tea on his own, just a quick cup really, and he needed to think of Snape while having it.

*****HPSS*****

It was sometime after midnight, the air finally cool enough that opening the windows didn’t result in conditions good enough to brew tea just by throwing leaves in the air. Severus was resting his head against his chair, staring blindly out to the brightly glinting lights of London. Vagrant air currents licked his bare feet that he rested against the windowsill. It was a calm evening, yet he felt restless, craving something not even English Breakfast in his hands could satisfy.

Scheherazade’s story had ended though, to Severus it felt way too early. Though the story’s ending was good, it simply wasn’t satisfactory enough. But what was there to do?

“Drink more tea,” whispered the empty cup in his hands. He grabbed his wand and swished it over the tea cup, filling it up. He skipped the tea though and poured whiskey into it instead. The cup didn’t seem to mind – it shut up and as Severus sipped the alcohol, the world was silent once again.

Except there was a quiet little noise just outside his office. Footsteps, soundless like fox on leaves, a shadow moving across the foggy glass – no more than a dark ghost and Severus gripped his wand tighter.

The spectre became more vivid as it slithered even closer to the door. Severus knew it was right outside, just on the other side of the glass, yet he could not see more than just a darker shadow gliding through the pitch blackness of the corridor. He more just guessed where it was than actually saw it.

Then the ghost did the most unghost-like thing and instead of simply drifting through the door, it started tampering with the lock. Severus watched mesmerized as the door handle moved lightly, metal clanked against metal, tiny hooks moved against the lock, click-click-click getting further and further inside until one final push, the ghost conquered the last hurdle and the handle surrendered.

The door opened quickly and still Severus did not move or say something. He just stared at the glass door as his thief silently slipped inside then, like the gentleman he was, closed the door behind himself.

“How dare you break in here?” Hissed Severus venomously.

“Severus! Good god, man, you gave me a heart-attack!”

A switch was pushed and light flickered alive, blinding Severus for moments.

“I apologize, I didn’t mean to. I thought you would be home already, and I had to deliver something urgently. I’m leaving the country tomorrow, you see.”

“Leaving to where?” Inquired Severus. He poured some whiskey for Edward too, though still contemplating whether to poison it or not.

“India, of course,” grinned Edward. “I was invited once again.”

“Lovely,” said Severus pushing the other tea cup to Edward.

Edward took a sip, then coughed surely not expecting the kick of the alcohol. He quickly regained his composure and drank again.

“Aahil seems rather forgiving.” He remarked with a soft tone.

“Beheading is frowned upon in England. Perhaps, he only wishes to lure you there.” Severus supplied with an evil grin.

“Oh, Severus, worried you might be for my health, I can assure you, after last night no such things are on his mind.” Laughed Flannigan.

“What are you doing here, Edward? Your Prince awaits you.” Sighed Severus.

“I am a man of my word,” Edward said then pulled something out of his pocket. He flicked his wand over it and the little package started growing. From little it slowly turned rather large and when the American pushed it towards Severus, it spilled. Golden galleons emanated from the belly of the bag and soon filled the whole of Severus’ desk.

“This is only the three thousand I’m afraid, but the rest is already transferred to your account in Gringotts. It should arrive by tomorrow morning, the goblins promised to be very haste about it.”

When Severus didn’t say anything just stared wide eyed at the sea of gold, Edward chuckled, then remarked in an easy-going tone, “I did plan to surprise you, I’m glad to see you being here during my break-in didn’t ruin that.”

“You are insane,” Severus remarked pointing at the gold. “This is simply too much.”

“It is what we agreed on, Severus. Three for trying and seven for opening the box. I added one more to cover the tax and transfer cost.” Flannigan stood, ready to leave. “Let’s keep in touch, my friend. I might need your services again. India, after all, is full of hidden treasures.”

“So, I take it, you don’t intend to give up your formal occupation, once you reside in the palace with the Prince.”

“My occupation might come handy to further enrich the Royal Family. Aahil says, as long as I don’t steal from him, the fox shall be allowed to remain in the henhouse. Little does he know, the only thing this fox intends to devour is him.”

“I believe that bimbo is perfectly aware of your intensions, Edward. Don’t underestimate him. Potter and him got along rather good, and that never bodes well.” Advised Severus, also standing up.

“Speaking of which, how’s our little Auror friend?”

“Good I would imagine. Even though he didn’t get to arrest me, though that seems like the very thing he would terribly enjoy.”

Edward raised his eyebrows. “Severus, tell me, something. Why do you think Potter has an ulterior motive?”

“Potter always does.”

“He seems like a nice guy. I had the pleasure to talk to him a bit, when Aahil said goodbye to him.”

“That doesn’t mean you know him. I’ve known that little bastard since he was eleven.” Severus growled.

“And how long have you wanted to fuck him?” Came Edward’s smug reaction.

Sneering, Severus only said, “I told you before, I’m not interested in him.”

“You’re not?” Asked Edward leaning over the desk. There was a predatory glint in his eyes. “Are you telling me you have never wondered how his body looks beneath those Auror robes? How all that training had formed him? How those green eyes would stare at you in pleasure once you taste his most secret places? Are you telling me, Severus Snape that you have never imagined those lips on your skin?”

Severus glared at him, but remained silent. The last couple of days he thought more of those things that was healthy for sure.

“You don’t understand still, what’s going on, do you? What he wants? So blindingly obvious, yet you stand there uncomprehending…”

“How would you, of all people know, what it is that he wants,” remarked Severus. “You don’t even know him.”

“Oh, but I do know what he wants. I, you see, asked dear Mister Potter a very simple question today and he gave me a very simple answer, which explained everything. Why he has been in your tracks in the past year, why he walks near your office daily, why he asks you for tea all the time. Such a simple explanation, but you will never know the answer, because you are simply too blind and cowardly.”

“How dare you?!” Hissed Severus, grabbing the man by his shirt and dragging him closer so they would be eye to eye. “How dare you insult me, you low-life thief?”

Edward wasn’t intimidated in the slightest. Instead he grinned, teasing smile spreading on his lips as he grabbed onto Severus’ hand. “Well, then my friend, here’s your chance to prove me wrong. I’ll ask you a question and you will answer, like him, honestly.”

Severus just glared at him, rage filling his mind and Flannigan must have taken that as consent because he went on. “I asked you once, Severus, how long have you been infatuated with Potter and you said you are not. So, I rephrase my question: how long have you been _in love_ with Harry Potter?”

He didn’t know what it was, the alcohol in his system, the last couple of days with Potter, but suddenly he seemed to see everything clearly. Why that kiss meant so much, why he despised the Indian bimbo from the first moment, why spending time with Potter had been so welcomed, why his company was more than just tolerable.

“A year,” answered Severus without thinking, eyes staring at the hands on his wrist and not at the man in front of him. He let go of Flannigan and fell down, the chair just at the right place to catch him.

He wasn’t in his office anymore. Memories flew him away, way back in time. “I have always thought of him differently than the other children. I despised his existence, I thought because of him I lost my only true friend, but with time I had to realize, I had lost Lily way before he was born. I showed him nothing but hatred for years, I tormented him, I used him, just like the whole world. In return, he gave me back my freedom. He fought for it, as if he owed me anything. When everyone looked down on me, thought me a killer, hoped that I would crawl back into a dark corner, or even more, wanted me dead, he stood up, and became my shield. He shouted the truth in the face of everyone who questioned my loyalty, said it a million times and repeated it until everyone believed him, even me. Then, suddenly, my life was in my hands again. I was free, thanks to him. And still I didn’t understand why he would help me, of all people. His parents are dead because of me, I killed his mentor and yet, he saved me from imprisonment worse than death itself. I hadn’t seen him for years, and last year during that night at the book club, we met. And I knew, I will finally have to pay for what I did to him all those years ago. I expected him to want revenge for the hatred, the horrid things I did to him, perhaps because I know that is what I deserve. Instead, do you know what he wanted?”

Edward shook his head, not that Severus noticed.

“A cup of tea.” Laughed Severus bitterly staring blindly at his hands.


	7. Step Seven: Enjoy with Company

“A cup of tea?” Harry asked tentatively.

“Just that,” Promised Hermione. “No attachments. And he’s a Muggle, so no magic either. That does simplify things, doesn’t it?” She chipped brightly.

“How do you know this guy again?” Asked Harry trying to find any excuse to not go on this date, though Hermione stated a million times it wasn’t a blind date.

“We met at St. Mungo’s. His sister is my co-worker and she is pregnant. She’s alone and he apparently made a promise to take care of them, but knows barely anything about the Wizarding World. I thought, you could guide him around.”

“You are a Muggle born, Hermione, you would be the perfect person to introduce someone to our world. Admit it, this is just an excuse to get me to forget the Snape-incident.” Harry shook his head, ignoring the girl’s blush. “Besides, what were you doing at St. Mungo’s?”

“Visiting Melanie,” answered Hermione. “Will you go out with him, then?”

Harry raised his eyes at the slip and Hermione covered her mouth quickly once she realized what she had said. “Just go, you won’t regret it, I promise. He’s really handsome,” she whispered, so that Ron wouldn’t hear her, but it seemed she was out of luck.

“Who’s handsome?” Ron asked walking in from the kitchen, and sitting down next to Hermione on the settee.

“You,” grinned Harry, eyeing his friend as he was licking the remnants of what once might have been a cherry pie from his fingers.

“Very funny,” muttered Ron. “Seriously, who are you talking about? This better not be about that Muggle, ‘Mione.”

“You know him?” Harry asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Never met the guy, but she’s been gabbing about him for a week. He sounds too good to be true.” Ron sighed, looking at Hermione. “She said, he’s handsome,” he ticked off a finger on his hand, “clever,” one more finger, “loves animals, has a good soul, whatever that means, and has a great ass.” He lifted his hand to show Harry how many good features this stranger had. “See, too good to be true.”

“Why?” Harry asked suspiciously.

“Never you mind this blabbing idiot,” Hermione smiled, taking glaring glances at Ron. “You go, have a cup with him and see for yourself.”

Sighing in acceptance of his defeat, Harry nodded, “Yes, ma’am.”

*****HPSS*****

 “No, Ma’am, I’m afraid, the seat is taken. I’m waiting for someone, you see.”

The sentence made Harry look towards the table next to the window, where a well-dressed, pretty lady stood over a man. He couldn’t make out the man’s face as a large ficus hid him and half the table where he was seated, however Harry could clearly see the woman’s disappointed face, as she walked away. Gulping he moved further into the little café, glad to finally get away from the heat outside, but once again, before he could spot the gentleman’s face a hostess stopped him.

“Hello, I’m here to meet someone,” He said quickly, forgoing her question.

“Good evening, sir. May I have a name?” She asked.

“Holland,” Answered Harry. “Michael Holland.”

He heard scraping of a chair and the next moment the man from behind the ficus walked to them. “That would be me,” said a deep, serene tone.

Harry looked up, eyes taking in the handsome features. He understood all of a sudden, why the woman looked so disappointed: a male specimen like this surely hold the attention of many women. Even as Harry welcomed the man and they shook hands, several heads turned towards him.

Hermione didn’t lie. Michael was tall, taller than Harry in fact, with short brown hair, and a commanding expression, that was softened only by his plump lips. His blue eyes seemed kind and interested as he took in Harry while they sat down. He had a strong jawline, and he was slightly more muscular than Harry in his build. He wore tight blue jeans, that didn’t manage to hide his round bottom, and long legs. The top bottom of his white shirt was left undone. His simple elegance charmed Harry right away.

Harry understood why Hermione insisted that he come to this date. A man like his was surely able to make him forget about Snape. Better looking than the freelancer had ever been, Holland didn’t even need to be a good conversationalist, most men (and, apparently, women) would want to have some steaming tea with him.

To Harry’s great disappointment however, Michael turned out to be a great conversationalist and not only that, he was also a veterinarian, and about to be a proud uncle to a little girl, after his sister had tragically lost her husband in a potion accident.

“We haven’t been much in contact you see,” he explained, his hands around a mug of hot masala chai blend. The vanilla aroma of the tea wafted over to Harry making him think of cold winter nights, he could spend cuddled up against this man, if this went right. “I’ve been living in Germany in the past years, assisting the police and working with K9 dogs mostly. When she told me, what had happened, I came back here right away. I never imagined experimenting could be that dangerous, though I imagine your… uhm… magical ways are not any easier than our scientific experiments.” He looked ruefully up at Harry. “I apologize, I am not quite sure how to express myself. Melanie is the only witch in the family and I admit I’m not familiar with your world. Mel tells me, I have a lot to learn…” He smiled a brilliant smile and Harry found himself forgiving him deeds he had not even committed.

“Is there anything you want to know about us specifically?” He asked. “I just don’t know how could I be of any help.”

Holland chuckled sensually and he leaned closer to Harry over the table. “There is something I must confess. We’ve met before, you and me. I saw you once when you came to pick Hermione up after she had a couple of drinks with my sister. I was here for a Christmas visit, waiting for Mel in the car. You looked really handsome with a green scarf around your neck. I’ve been asking Mel ever since to get me your number. Apparently, you don’t have one.” There was a mischievous smile lurking around his lips. “I just thought, if I have to adjust into the British Wizarding World, why not ask you to help me. Or is that too foregoing of me?”

Suddenly Harry felt picking a hot tea might have been a bad choice. Though the café was air-conditioned against the awful heat outside that raged on even at night now, he felt suddenly as if all the warmth of the summer evening had rushed in through the window. He had just turned to check it, making sure it was still locked and this sudden heatwave had nothing to do with any gap, when he saw it.

A man stood out there frozen in the middle of the sidewalk across the street. Cars passed him, bringing light to his face for seconds, yet it was still unreadable.

The sensation felt a lot like getting hit by a spell square in the chest. Harry suddenly couldn’t breathe. Panicking, he looked at the man in front of him, who was frowning, looking out there, blue eyes scanning the street for anything that might have scared Harry but of course he could not see the dark man among the others and Harry was sure, he was long gone by now.

“Are you all right, Harry?” Holland asked.

“No,” Harry breathed and stood up.

This was a mistake. Just one look at Snape had told him that. Perfect Michael Holland or anyone else might be, they were not Severus Snape, they could never be like him. He apologized swiftly and rushed out hoping to find Snape on the street still.

But Snape was nowhere, it was only the heat that welcomed him and made his clothe cling to his body right away. London had been unliveable in the last couple of days – a heatwave worse than anything had hit the city, but Harry now knew his discomfort was a lot more than that.

He ran, shouting the man’s name, his mind reeling around the past week. It had been almost seven days since he had last seen the man in his office, nearly a week of Hermione’s supporting “You’ll get over him”-s and Ron’s “He’s a git, Harry,”-s but of course he did not get over him, could not get over _Snape_ just like that.

It also had been a week since Edward Flannigan, a man he only met a couple of times asked the question none had ever thought of asking, not his best friends, not even himself. It had been a week since Harry tried to take back that answer, tried to erase it from ever happening, from ever feeling it, but of course, he could not do that.

Holland wasn’t more than just an extreme way of dealing with all this, of making himself forget the other man, the one that mattered, the only that had ever mattered.

“Snape!” He screamed again as his steps slowly faltered and he stopped, panting.

Suddenly, many things happened at the same time: there was a loud crack up in the sky, and in the corner of his eyes, he saw something move right next to him in a darkness of the alley what the lightning’s brightness managed to penetrate for a short moment. He felt the magic first, then the scent that was stronger than the smell of heated asphalt. Then he felt the hand grip his lower arm and pull him inside the darkness.

His back collided with brick wall, then a lithe body pressed against him holding him at place.

“What do you want, Potter?” Snarled a deep baritone right into his ear and Harry moaned in delight.

Then, his anger took over. “You god damn know what I want, Snape!” He shouted.

A wand was suddenly pressed against his skin, and staring at the burning dark eyes his heart did miss a beat, but then Snape stepped away, backing against the opposite wall.

“IT’S BEEN A YEAR!” Snape cried looking mad all of a sudden. His wand was gone once again and he ran his hands through his hair, his expression turning wild. “Why do you torment me, Potter? Why come to my office? Why all the invitations? Why seek me out? Why take me to the theatre? Why, Potter, _WHY_?” He demanded enraged. “If not revenge what is it, Potter? To drive me mad? Because you have excelled at that!”

”I drove _you_ mad?” Harry yelled pointing an accusatory finger at Snape. “You make me question my sanity all the time! I must have been insane to believe you would come back the next night for the rest of your story! I waited for you, Snape! What an idiot I was! No doubt you were laughing in your office! Was kissing me part of your god damn revenge, or just a spur of the moment thing?” Harry asked in a low but threatening voice, pressing that judgemental finger onto Snape’s chest. When did he come so close to the man?

“My revenge? You lunatic, what are you talking about? And besides,” Snape growled wildly, fingers gripping into Harry’s shirt over his ferociously beating heart. “it was you, who kissed _me_!”

The world turned and Harry found himself smashed against the wall yet again.

“Why?” Came Snape’s soft voice from close enough that he could feel hot air ghosting on his lips. “ _Why_?” The man growled again in a low, animalistic tone.

Snape towered over him, so close, shaking with uncontrolled rage, hands fisted in Harry’s shirt, his magic vibrating under the surface like a boiling cauldron about to explode and all Harry could think of that moment was how ironic this all was really.

The revelation was bright and took his anger with him. He thought of Michael Holland, a perfect, kind man, handsome, and Muggle enough to not judge him by his fame, someone who fancied him enough to beg for a stranger for a meeting. But of course, he didn’t want anything to do with Michael Holland or his long legs and round arse.

He wanted lanky Snape – lean, bony, long haired, crooked nosed Snape. It had always been Snape.

He grabbed the man, angry again, but this time at himself, for being such a coward for so long. Hands fisted in Snape’s expensive suit he cried, “I – JUST – WANTED – TO HAVE – SOME – BLOODY – FUCKING – _TEA_ – WITH YOU!”

The next moment he was kissing Snape wildly as if there was no tomorrow. And perhaps he had none, given at any moment, Snape would push him away and curse him out of existence. Desperately he moved his lips against thin lips, tracing the sweet skin with his tongue and only faltered for a moment when Snape let out a rough sound. Then suddenly there were teeth biting him and Snape was sucking his tongue inside his mouth – the sweetest invitation Harry had ever gotten.

Snape tasted of something so familiar, Harry wasn’t sure where to put it. Then it hit him, just as a hard body pressed more firmly against him: Earl Grey – though why Snape would have drunk that eluded Harry. The man preferred English Breakfast; and just as the thought had crossed his mind, Snape’s lips moved over his neck, tongue dragging down on a line that wasn’t unfamiliar to the older man.

“Fucking hell, Potter, I told you to mind what you’re bathing with, if you want me to behave around you,” grunted the man, lips against Harry’s skin.

“This is the only way I want you to act around me, you bastard…” Hissed Harry. “Why don’t you bloody get it?”

“This?” Snape asked dangerously. “This is what you want?”

His fingers went around Harry’s hand and his achingly strong grip forced Harry to let him go. His hand however, was soon back on Snape’s body, only much, _much_ lower.

“Good god, Snape…” Harry moaned, his fingers skimming Snape’s hard cock through the thin material of his suit.

“I don’t even care what stupid game you’re playing, Potter…” Snape breathed against his ear then claimed his mouth in another fiery kiss. “But you’ll regret it tonight for sure.”

“Regret? This?” Chuckled Harry lightheaded. “Hardly…”

His lips were attacked again, hands skimming his body, moving from his neck to his hair, from his back to his waist. He moved too, though one of his hands was stuck to Snape’s hardness, skimming it with rough strokes, the other did not stay put only for mere seconds as he clung to the man by his suit, then grabbed into firm arse only to press their bodies closer.

Rain started to fall and they pulled apart. Harry looked up at the dark sky, revelling in the cold drops of rain on his face and the warm – hot, almost burning – body against him. Snape, too had his face turned towards the moonless night, though with his eyes closed he could not see anything.

One single drop caught Harry’s attention among the millions of others. Its journey had been stopped before it could reach the ground and evaporate on the hot asphalt. It was Snape’s long, black hair that halted it, but the little droplet had fought for its destiny. It rolled down Snape’s forehead, over the line of his hooked nose, slid onto his red upper lip and almost victoriously passed onto the lower one. Harry, however could not let it move on. He pushed himself away from the wall and caught Snape by surprise when he kissed him softly on the lips, tongue flickering over soft flesh, licking away the tiny waterdrops.

The whole city had waited and waited for the precious rain to cool it down finally, to wash away even the last remnants of the last week’s heat and to finally bring back the reasonably warm, English summer days. Which is why, Harry did not understand, why it wasn’t working. Why he still felt this unbearable heat in the pit of his stomach, why his lips on Snape’s felt like he was kissing a freshly brewed cup of Earl Grey.

It was like a spell – he could not move away, could not move an inch of his body to get further away from the man. _Closer_ seemed to be the only direction he was able to move, no matter what he tried, all he achieved was an inch closer, a hand moving from chest to arm, a leg pressing between thighs.

Snape seemed to be fighting the same battles as Harry, as he, too, grunted and whimpered, trying to put some distance between them, trying and failing just like Harry. He pushed and pulled Harry, one hand on his shoulder almost dislocating his bone was pushing so hard, while the other fisted into his shirt did not let him leave. He clung to Harry’s lips with his mouth, and when he found it wasn’t enough, he anchored himself to Harry by biting his neck and sucking the rain off his skin.

People cried, shouted delighted on the streets and ran for safety, for cover against the very thing they needed, they wanted. But not them – Harry and Snape disregarded the continuous attack of raindrops, Harry doubted they even managed to reach his skin at all, though Snape seemed adamant to capture all of them with his tongue. Harry was burning alive and no rain could cool him off – they all evaporated before they would manage to touch him.

The voices of the people became more and more distracting, then suddenly Harry heard his own name being cried into the thundering night. In response, Snape went wild again. They pushed and pulled each other further away from the mouth of the alley just to be sure they were alone and nothing on this planet would disturb them, especially not Michael Holland.

Lighting scarred the sky with its forks for a second, just as Harry looked up, trying to make out Snape’s face through the wet lenses of his glasses. He managed to see for a flicker of a second the man’s messy hair, the raindrops like tiny rivers drawing zigzagging lines onto his face, black eyes bearing not just lust and need, but a lot more.

Harry couldn’t take it; the lie that this rain was here to cool the world, how could it be when all it did so far was to make things even worse. He took his anger out on Snape. He traced his neck, slowly and taking his time to lap at all the enemy. He reached a collar bone, then realized, the rain had eluded him, drops had been sneakily slithering to places he had been denied. He tore at Snape’s white shirt in pure rage, claiming his territory.

Snape only moaned under the attack on his body and so, Harry did his best to clear off all the enemy troops by moving slowly further down. Inch by inch he got rid of them, but others came and soon the battle seemed unwinnable. Just as Harry took a perked little nipple into his mouth and Snape let out a short cry, he understood, he could not give up, Snape was counting on him. He called the last remnants of his strength and brushed away relentless soldiers with only a sweep of his palm. For a second, the battlefield was cleared but then, the rain rallied all its forces once again and the ongoing, never-ending assault had conquered Harry: he fell to his knees.

But defeat was far from his mind. He clawed at Snape’s skin, hands on the man’s waist, fingertips and nails dashing into soft skin. Snape was losing a battle too, at least that was what his sudden cries told Harry.

Another thunder rambled through London, and Harry realised what he was doing. He felt all of a sudden how his sodden pants that were ruined by kneeling in a puddle (all the lost soldiers, the thought crossed his mind), the shirt that had clang to his body was tepid, too uncomfortable (he should get rid of it soon, he thought), Snape’s hand unbuckling his belt (hurry up, god damn you, _hurry up_ was all he could think of).

He wasn’t sure whether it was another thunder or just Snape’s deep moan when his cock was finally freed and Harry wrapped his mouth around it.

“You’re so fucking delicious, Snape,” he grunted before he gave a long lick to the thick cock (the rain’s troops had beat him to this too, and he swore a sacred oath to devour each and every one of them in revenge).

“Fucking hell, Potter,” Snape growled, fisting one hand in Harry’s hair, the other in his own. “You raving lunatic… you wish to suck my soul out through that?”

Harry wanted to say yes, yes, yes, indeed it was Snape’s soul he was after, his heart too and his body as well, but yes, mostly, right now, he would be satisfied with only his soul, Snape was correct. But his mouth full, he only sucked harder, lips pressing against the underside of the long shaft, tracing invisible veins, getting rid of those awful little solders who dared claim his territory as theirs. But this war he was winning, and once the full length of Snape cock was down his throat, once he knew all the troops had been destroyed, he revelled.

Snape whimpered too, and Harry looked up to see his bare chest was once again another battle to be won. Raindrops clung to that alabaster skin, rolled on it like if they owned every inch of hairless skin there. They sat snuggly on pink nipples, until another came and took over their lookout.

Harry reached up sending half the army to its devastation as he slowly slithered a hand up on Snape’s chest. Once he reached a nipple he crushed the enemy between his thumb and pointing finger. Snape cried in relief, cock twitching in Harry’s mouth, but it wasn’t enough. Harry pulled back slightly and watched in horror as the troops flooded the surface of the red, throbbing cock. He drew it deeper into his mouth once more, then out again to see if it was alright now, and for a full second it was, then more and more drops of the blasted rain formed so Harry had to move forward again. He tried again and again and again, but it wasn’t working. Snape on the other hand seemed to be under even greater distress. His voice under control, was now a mix of continuous whimpers and swearwords, grunts and moans and “Mmm, Potter… oh gods… so good…”-s.

The rain was relentless but so was Harry. He caressed the smooth body in front of him, hand moving on long legs, clutching tight buttocks, skimming bony hips, flat stomach, perky nipples. Lips, a tight ring around a hard member, his tongue just a teasing little muscle, yet so much more, making Snape scream – would he take his blasted fist out of his mouth.

“Potter,” the warning edge to his voice was lost, as Snape grabbed into Harry’s hair once more. Harry let himself be pulled back just at the last moment – sacrifices were ought to be made in war – but the victory was his. Snape cried his name as he came, not even the thundering sky loud enough to dampen the sound of it. 

The many cries of “Potter…” echoed from wall to wall as Snape shot his come onto Harry’s face. White drops of semen dripped from Harry’s lips until he licked it off satisfied. He craned his neck to reach Snape’s cock, sucking the last drops out of its purple tip with a needy whimper of his own.

The rain continued to fall, but Harry didn’t care. Victory was his and his alone.

*****HPSS*****

The rain continued to fall, but Severus didn’t care. Potter was his and his alone for the time being and he intended to do everything with this occasion that was humanly possible. He couldn’t tell how long Potter’s madness would hold, he only hoped this wasn’t over yet.

It didn’t seem to be. As he looked down he saw Potter, still staring up at him through raindrops covered lenses, as the pouring rain slowly washed away the come from his face. Potter didn’t move, he just kept kneeling in the puddle, looking up, waiting, waiting.

But Severus had waited enough, he didn’t have patience anymore. He grabbed Potter by the jaw and pulled him up with one swift jerk. Once back on his feet, he backed Potter against the brick wall yet again, not taking his eyes from the lust filled green orbs.

No matter how hard the rain was falling, it simply couldn’t wash away the scent of English Breakfast from Potter. It was everywhere, it clung to his skin, came from his pores, dripped from his hair. Severus leant closer and tasted it everywhere. His mind needed some more time to regain its composure, his orgasm making a whole lot of mess in there. He bought some more time with tasting the young Auror here and there, curious how down the scent would reach.

One would think, the rain was there to cool him down, but instead, it made everything a thousand times worse – or better. Potter’s soaked through shirt clang to his body like a second layer of skin, hair flat, lips covered in tiny drops begging to be kissed away.

Potter had enough it seemed – either of the waiting or perhaps it was the heat that got to him as well. He pulled his shirt over his head and let it drop to the ground. Not even the darkness of the night would stop Severus from exploring the young body in front of him. If he couldn’t see it with his eyes, he would see every inch with his palm.

He didn’t hesitate and spread his hands over Potter’s waist, moving them up on his bare, wet chest. Potter sighed in response, dropping his head back against the warm brick wall.

Another flash of lightning brought brightness to their lewd, stolen moments shadowed by the storm’s dark clouds. Severus looked down on the lithe body in front of him, legs spread slightly, wide chest rising and falling rapidly even during those few seconds while the light illuminated their lustful duet. Potter looked edible against the red brick, his green eyes a flash of dare for Severus to reach and touch – _wherever he wanted_.

The bulge in Potter’s pants looked tempting and inviting, and Severus smiled to himself as he undid the buttons on the black jeans but did not yet touch the young man. Instead his hands went to Potter’s back, roaming the broad shoulders, the muscular back, the narrow waist. Potter just keened pushing closer but Severus didn’t let him rut against his leg just yet.

He kissed the other, wildly, teeth, tongue lips in a battle against each other – he kissed Potter until the Auror realized, what he had done and pulled away with a wild moan, once Severus' finger circled his hole through his shorts.

“Not what you want anymore, Potter?” Severus teased, hands firmly sliding against firm buttocks.

“Here?” Potter breathed against Severus’ ear, his voice filled with aching lust.

Severus pulled him closer and pressed a leg against his hardness. He all but mounted Potter on his thigh, and he guided him in his languid thrusts.

“As if you could go anywhere in your current state…” He chuckled against the Auror’s ear.

“I’m more worried about your state,” Potter stated, voice firm regardless his actions. His hand skimmed Severus’ front, and he smirked, biting the older man’s chin softly.

“Oh, don’t be…” Severus whispered dangerously. “By the time, I’m done with you, we’re both going to be dripping with…” he pushed his hand deep into Potter’s pants, this time exploring the front. He pulled out the hard member that pulsed on his palm, then drew a single finger over the leaking tip. “…this...” He finished his sentence with lifting his finger to Potter’s mouth, and caressing the young man’s lower lip, leaving a wet trail of precome there.

Potter moaned, wanton and needy, and licked his lips, eyes closing, then took Severus’ finger into his mouth sucking on it. Once it was released, Severus guided it back to Potter’s arse and traced the wet finger against puckered skin.

“Bloody tease…” Potter moaned not at all irritated, and started moving between probing finger and pressing down onto firm thigh.

“Me?” Severus murmured, fingertips dancing on ribcage, his mouth sucking red marks to Potter’s collarbone. “You’re lucky that kettle boiled, otherwise I would have had you on that table at the lighthouse.”

“If I had been lucky, you would have had me the night you first came to my apartment.” Told him Potter. “Or you would have that finger up my arse already.”

“This,” answered Severus, pressing down said finger harder for a moment, “has nothing to do with luck.” He kissed Potter hard on the lips, then pulled back. “Turn around.” He ordered.

Even through the wet lenses Severus could see the green eyes glint in pleasure at that and then Potter turned without a word. Severus eyed him, hands drifting down on the bare back. Once he reached Potter’s pants he pushed it down, just enough so that the tight jeans were under the round buttocks.

He didn’t say anything as he knelt down and spread the arse cheeks apart. Potter looked over his shoulder and tried to glimpse what he was doing. He must have noticed that Severus was on his knees, because a desperate moan left his parted lips and he all but moaned, “Snape what… oh god, what are you-”

Severus didn’t let him finish the sentence, he leant forward and made sure Potter understood what he was doing. He pressed his tongue against the little hole, wriggling it eagerly against the sensitive skin.

Potter shouted into the rain, another bout of thunder rumbling over them just at the right time so that no one would hear his ardent cry – only Severus. He drove his tongue over the crack once again, this time slower, and not stopping at the pink little hole, but he still managed to make Potter whimper, head against the brick wall, nails scratching away the mortar.

His tongue wouldn’t stop. He licked up all the way to Potter’s spine just to go down again, making a couple of circles around the sensitive area. Potter whimpered, not knowing what was about to come. The next time his tongue swiped over the tight hole, it dipped in, just a quick move surprising enough to make the Auror clench hard on him, while fervent moans left his mouth.

“Mmmm… fuck…” Potter sobbed and Severus pitied him for only a moment. He smiled, lips against Potter’s arse, as one of his hands, unoccupied at the moment, slithered silently forward. He pushed in his tongue once again, just as he skimmed Potter’s hard cock with his palm. If the previous moans were desperate, these ones were hushed pleas of mercy.

Potter was delicious on his tongue; no trace of English Breakfast anymore, his nose was buried just into Potter’s unique scent. He wondered if his come would taste like this too, but told himself he would have to taste that some other time. A hand grasped around his hand on Potter’s cock and moved with him in a slow tempo.

“Don’t you dare make yourself come, Potter.” He murmured kissing into the little dimples on Potter’s back. While his mouth was away he teased the young man with his hand, moving it slowly up and down over the crease, caressing him with only the tip of one of his fingers. “Only when I’m inside you, Potter. Only then…”

“God damn you,” Potter hissed and grasped down on his hand, his hips thrusting forth but then let go and reached behind instead. He buried his fingers into Severus’ wet hair. “What are you waiting for, then?” He groaned.

Severus swiped his tongue along the rim again and Potter keened, fingers tightening in his hair. This was what he waited for, at least one thing on the list. He wanted to hear every sound Potter was capable of producing in his lewd state. He pressed his tongue inside, fingers sliding over the wet tip of Potter’s erection. It wasn’t just rain that made it so smooth to the touch; precome dropped to the dirty ground among the millions of raindrops. Severus fingered the slit, tongue ramming inside Potter’s hole, then pulling out as if he would be fucking him already.

Too easy; Potter was close enough to beg him, he was purring like a lost kitten in his hands. Severus could hear him panting through the drumming rain, even though he suspected Potter was biting into his forearm to dampen the sound of his vulgar cries.

The channel through the pink rim was too hot and Severus couldn’t help but press a finger in there too. He himself turned hard just thinking about pressing through that tight ring, he didn’t even have to think about Potter clenching around him – it would be too much, he would come again.

Potter hissed over him like a snake, the sound coming out desperate between sobs of pleasure. His relentlessly moving hand around the hard prick slid wetly now, and the little hole became looser with every thrust of his finger and tongue. He didn’t understand how Potter could still hold on, he would have come already, he almost did now even though Potter only touched his hair and nothing else. Yet the eager, encouraging sounds that flew from Potter’s lips, his scent, his wildly jerking body every time Severus pressed his wriggling tongue deeper inside, made him wild with need.

The hissing soon turned into almost comprehensive words.

“Please, Severus…” Potter begged frantically and when Severus realized it was his name on those lips, that Potter had been silently begging for _him_ , he couldn’t take it any longer. He stood and nudged Potter gently with hands on the Auror’s waist.

“Turn,” He said breathlessly. “Face me.”

Potter did so and Severus’ heart clenched by the lascivious sight. Potter was hazy with desire, he seemed feverish, even in the darkness. His hair a wet mess, dripping tresses fell to his face, lips parted and almost bit raw to keep himself from coming. Green eyes were clouded with sheer need that Severus fully intended to service.

He kissed Potter soft and steady this time, though the Auror wanted to bite, he was eager and rash, but Severus didn’t allow him.

“It’s alright,” he whispered against swollen lips. They were breathing the same air, the rain fell from one of them to the other.

He pushed the tight jeans further down and Potter hitched a leg around him. He had done his best but he knew Potter would be still too tight for his aching hard cock. He grabbed the other’s firm erection that was pressing against his stomach, searching for contact – any contact – and pulled on it with a firm hold just as he pushed inside. The blunt head of his cock pierced Potter and they both shouted into each other’s mouth.

Thankfully, Potter’s voice was anything but painful. He managed to turn Potter’s attention from the penetration but Severus’ was right there feeling vividly every inch. He almost came, and still felt like he would burst any moment if he moved.

He forced earie calmness on his mind and hoped for the best as he thrusted forward. Potter clutched into him, both arms going around Severus’ shoulder, he buried his head against the crook of Severus’ neck. Severus could hear his uneven breathing, moans, ragged whimpers. The side of Potter’s glasses were cutting into his cheek but he was holding onto the young man strongly, never letting him go.

Potter was so hot and being inside him made Severus feel like someone was pressing a burning iron brand against his heart and once again the rain did nothing to cool them off. Their skin seemed as if it would be smoking by the irregular flashes of lightning that became more and more frequent as the eye of the storm had reached them.

Potter’s lifted leg drew him nearer and he too, barely able to hold himself up, let their bodies collide against the wall and relied on the brick to keep them up as he clutched Potter’s arse with a hand. He could almost feel with his forefinger as he relentlessly ploughed the young body, and he was tempted to press his finger in there as well but suspected that tonight it would be just too much.

The fingers on his other hand were buried in the unruly mop of black hair, his mouth open and pressed onto Potter’s neck. A string of swear words mixed with Potter’s name over and over again, but by the time they reached his mouth they were nothing more than groaning pleas whimpered into the rainy night.

“Fuck, you’re clenching around me so hard, Potter…” he couldn’t help but whisper as he felt the tight muscles sporadically become even tighter. It drove him mad with lust and he knew he wouldn’t hold on much longer.

 Potter’s cock trapped between their bodies twitched.

“You’re in too deep,” Potter managed to press out through tight lips and for a second Severus got scared that maybe, maybe what he thought were moans of pleasure were instead gasps of pain, but then Potter whimpered again after a harder thrust. “You’re hitting my-” he couldn’t finish the sentence, another harsh roll of Severus’ hips sent him hard against the wall.

Severus understood finally and with clarity came another rush of desire. Wild and ardent he pressed inside with fast strokes trying to hit the same spot but managed only occasionally. Not that Potter seemed to mind, he fell against the wall, back arching, wet chest glistering in yet another flash of lighting.

Potter’s whole body went rigid for a moment then, his cock was suddenly spurting hot come over Severus’ bare chest and white shirt. The sensation went through Severus as well and he too fell forward, unable to hold it any longer. His second orgasm brought another rush of delight and for minutes he couldn’t feel, see, hear a thing.

***HPSS***

Slowly, Harry could hear things. However, it seemed even the rain was quieter now as if the whole world had pulled back to wait in silence: what would happen next?

Harry listened to the knocking of waterdrops on metal rain pipes over their heads and wondered maybe the world was the same, the storm still raging around them, and it was just their heartbeats that tuned out everything else.

“Can you stand?” he could hear that too, though it only made his heart beat even faster.

“Yeah,” he answered and Snape let go of his leg gently. Harry was about to start dressing when Snape stopped him with a hand on his.

“Wait,” he said quietly, his tone barely above the volume of the distant thunders. His hand went between Harry’s leg and spread them a bit by pushing one further to the side. Harry obeyed, though he didn’t understand what was going on. Then he felt a finger at his arse, the tip pressing back inside him.

“Good lord,” Harry moaned legs buckling under him. “Don’t tell me you’re ready for another round already.”

“Not just yet,” Snape said, lips sliding sensually against Harry’s neck. “But I did leave something in here…”

“What are you- oh- _ooh my god_!” Potter groaned once he understood what Snape insinuated.

Snape circled his finger once more before, pressing it against the tight rim. “Unless of course, you want to walk around with my come inside you.”

“Bastard,” Harry grunted when the fingers slipped inside him. “You could have used a spell.”

“Could have, yes,” Harry could feel Snape’s lips pull into a grin against skin. “But that would defeat the purpose.”

“What is your pur-” Fingers skimmed his prostate and he cried out again, unable to finish the sentence, not that he needed to. He soon felt something slowly stream down his inner thigh and felt more embarrassed than ever in his whole life before.

“Oh god…” He whimpered. “What have I gotten myself into…?”

“What indeed?” Snape agreed with him with a smirk.

A warm spell washed over him and he felt clean. His clothes too were dry once he pulled them back on and it seemed Snape was in the same pristine condition as always within five minutes.

“We should get some cover,” suggested Harry looking up at the still quietly falling rain.

“Harry,” Snape said, hesitant. “There’s something I need to ask you. Or rather, Edward Flannigan had a question to you. What was it?”

Harry headed towards the mouth of the alley, knowing Snape was right behind him.

“Oh, it was a simple question actually.” Harry chuckled. “One I should have asked myself a long, long time ago.”

“What was it?” Asked Snape stopping Harry by grabbing his hand. They were close to the street now and Harry could see the worry on his face.

“Do you love Severus Snape?” Harry repeated the question.

“And your answer was?” Snape inquired calmly, though his hand that was holding Harry shook slightly.

Harry just leaned up to him and kissed him softy. “Why don’t we talk about this over a nice cup of tea?” He smiled.

“Mmm,” Snape purred, kissing back. “Tea… I love tea.”

* * *

**_The End_ **

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And thus concludes another one of my stories. I do hope that you, my reader, had a fun experience, that tea now and forever will mean a lot more to you, and that sometimes when you sit there on your bed, in a chair, on a train or wherever in the World sipping your lovely English Breakfast or Earl Grey, you will think of this little tale.
> 
> On an another note, given International Mental Health Day was this month, I want to put this out here: take care of yourself. It is important. We all feel low sometimes, but it does not dwell to accept that and live your life in a gray haze of nothingness. You deserve to be happy, to feel content in your life, and if you think you are alone, you are not, not ever. We are here, as a community. It is not just stories and reviews back and forth, but more than that. Friendships are made here, and even if you dont think of me as your friend, I am here for you. I am not a professional, but I'll offer up a cute, fluffy story to cheer you up when you're down, or listening ears when that is all you need. Just as you were here for me now.
> 
> Thank you all for the helpful advises, personal experiences and reassurance that I am not alone.


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